wildflowers
by the average gatsby
Summary: "For me & my true love will never meet again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond". Oliver/OC. Hogwarts era. Rated T for Oliver's mouth & mentions of sexual themes.
1. Part I: Eyebright

Part I: Eyebright

* * *

_The wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring._

* * *

-June 1983-

Oliver's biggest regret in life was that his broom wouldn't rise higher than four feet off of the ground. He had been trying to convince his father for ages to charm it so that he could fly higher, even if only by a few feet, because how else was he supposed to train to be good enough for a spot on Puddlemere United's team? James Blacker had been playing Quidditch since he was barely old enough to walk, and he was - in Oliver's opinion - the best Keeper in history. Blacker probably had no problem persuading his parents to charm his toy broom, in fact, he probably had a professional-grade broom given to him for his first birthday! How was Oliver supposed to compete with that? He was seven already and he wasn't even allowed to touch his step-mum's broom. Besides, he was too short to reach it, even if he had been allowed to play with it. At this rate, he wouldn't be good enough to be on the Chudley Cannons' reserve team until he was in his forties, and then he would be too old to play anyway. His parents were just out to kill any good career chances that their darling little boy had. He was doomed.

With a frown, Oliver flattened himself forward against his broom and willed his broom to go faster. It sped up slightly, which was still not fast enough for Oliver to even consider playing Quidditch professionally. He let out a string of colourful words - whispered, of course - that he had heard his uncle Sean mutter once, under his breath. After that, Uncle Sean had received a scolding from Granny McCarthy - his stepmother's mother - and a slap on the arm from his wife. It felt good to think unholy words, especially since Oliver was having a rule-breaking kind of day. He was supposed to be actively participating in the second day of the annual Family Reunion, where the millions of members of the McCarthy family, the Wood family and extended family - it was really only about one hundred people, but that still felt like a number with lots of zeroes on the end of it to Oliver - came together with their deluxe tents at Oliver's large house by Loch Lomond. Oliver couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed at the number of people, and had escaped off with his toy broom to ride around the vast scape of property. The reason that his family owned so much land was that it had been in the family for many, many years. The land had been in possession since the 1800s when the McCarthys were famous for breeding fancy and racing Hippogriffs and needed lots of space to do so. When Oliver's great-grandfather McCarthy passed away, he left the land to his one and only child: Oliver's grandfather, who passed it on to Oliver's mother - well technically his stepmother, but she was Oliver's only mother figure.

He veered towards the loch, paying careful attention to his posture on the broom and the position of his grip on the handle. He felt the air rush around him, ruffling his movement-tousled mahogany hair, and relished the feeling. Never had he felt so free as when he was up in the air, flying like a phoenix. Oliver did a few calculations and went over a few technicalities in his brain before finally attempting a barrel roll on his broom. Adrenaline zoomed through him; his veins were on fire and his mind clouded over with excitement. He righted himself after the successful manoeuvre, practically hearing a Quidditch stadium filled with his fans cheer him on. They were roaring his name, shouting encouragements as the opposing team's Chaser flew towards him, Quaffle in gloved hands. The Chaser grinned, one muscular arm releasing the reddish ball in a well-aimed throw. The crowd fell silent as the Quaffle soared towards Oliver. The entire world slowed down to half-speed as Oliver narrowed his eyes, zeroed in on the ball, and triumphantly swung his arm, hitting the Quaffle well out of the way of the goal hoops he was diligently guarding. The stadium turned back on again as cheers thundered through the atmosphere. 'OL-I-VER! OL-I-VER! OL-I-VER!'They were chanting. They loved him. He was the best Keeper in history.

Unfortunately, none of the fans had thought to mention to Oliver that he was about to fly into a tree. He was brought back sharply to reality as the first, small branch scratched across his face, and immediately braked his broom. His heart pounded with the effects from the near brush with death - a hyperbole, of course - and he touched back to the ground, gasping for air desperately. He sat on the ground, one hand holding his broom and the other over his heart, feeling the thu-thump, thu-thump of nervous blood coursing through his veins.

"Are you alright?" A shy, unfamiliar voice inquired gently. Oliver looked up. A young girl stood in front of him, staring down at him with bright amber-green eyes. Her hair was long and unruly, the colour of dark chocolate, and blew around her with the effects of the breeze. Her modestly cut dress was also tousled by the weather, and was the same hue as freshly-fallen snow. Oliver couldn't help but notice that she had a crown of heather, clover, and thistle-flowers around her head, as well as bracelets and anklets of the same flora. He blushed and nodded, embarrassed at encountering somebody that he had never met or that his parents had never introduced him to. Oliver wasn't the most social of children, that was for sure, which was part of the reason that he had went out of his way to escape the large masses of Woods and McCarthys and whoever else decided to show up for the five-day-long event.

She smiled down at him, holding out one slightly suntanned hand to aid him in standing up. He took her extended hand and blushed an even deeper shade of magenta as she helped him up. He was more than eager to drop her hand after he no longer required its assistance. "You're a very good flier." She stated softly, her eyes trained on his, his own flitting anywhere but at her.

"Thanks." He mumbled, looking at her for a brief second and holding her gaze for a fraction of a moment before returning his focus on the soft ground beneath his feet. Oliver had never realized how fascinating the earth was, but now it was like he couldn't tear his eyes off it. He was desperate not to look away from the ground as he tried to will the heat on his face away. Maybe, if he didn't reply long enough, the girl would go away and he could go back to flying.

"Loch Lomond is a sad place, isn't it?" The girl had another question, one that Oliver couldn't tell if he was supposed to answer or not. He settled for a shrug, and finally allowed himself to look up at the loch. It didn't look sad to Oliver; it just looked like a loch. Lochs couldn't feel or anything like that, because they were just water. This girl was weird. Oliver briefly wondered if she was a witch. She had to be; there were too many enchantments on the McCarthy property that repelled Muggles. She couldn't even have found her way over here. Unless the enchantments didn't stretch all the way down to the water. But it was still McCarthy land, wasn't it? Yes, yes it was. Oliver's new acquaintance was trespassing, then, wasn't she? Wasn't that illegal? "There's a song about it," The girl stated plainly, and Oliver blinked, having forgotten what she was talking about. She giggled, probably at the confused look on Oliver's face, and walked towards the loch, her bare feet - what kind of girl was this - slipping into the water. She was humming, quietly, and Oliver wondered whether he should take this moment to escape. He recognized the tune as an old Scottish traditional one that Granda McCarthy often belted out in his strong Scottish brogue, and although Oliver didn't know many of the words, he knew that the song was a melancholy one.

The girl's humming faded away, and before he knew it, she had turned and began to walk up the bank, away from Oliver. He stared after her, trying to figure out what had just happened. She halted after several paces, and twisted around to face him. "Aren't you coming?" She called. Oliver blinked, and - probably against his better judgement - followed her, broom still in hand. When Oliver caught up he realized that she had begun her humming again, the same melody as before. They headed off into the woods, the he strange girl with flowers in her hair leading the way. She was winding effortlessly through the gnarled trees of the small forest, not even acknowledging how the harsh ground must be hurting her feet. This intrigued the young Scotsman, but he said nothing.

It took only a minute of walking and the girl's captivating humming of 'The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks O' Loch Lomond' before they were finally out of the forest. There was a glorious meadow that Oliver had surprisingly never seen before, filled with heather and other flowers that he didn't care to know the names of. His companion flashed a dazzling smile in his direction before taking his hand and leading him to a small clearing in the flowers that looked much like a crop circle. The girl sat down and picked a closed flower bud from those around her, holding it in her palms. Oliver watched with wide chestnut eyes as the flower rose from her hand, blooming before his very eyes. It was an interesting colour; an extraordinarily light blue-purple that was almost white, with a deep yellow centre. "It's called Eyebright." The girl murmured before blowing gently on the flower, which flew over to Oliver with its petals acting like wings. He caught the flower-bird, bright eyes still widened in awe, and looked up at the girl.

"Eyebrigh'," He murmured, looking down at the flower again and feeling a slight smile creep up onto his lips. The sudden sound of a cowbell clanging roused both of them from their respective thoughts. The girl immediately bore a look of panic on her face, and she frantically unwound her flowery accessories from herself, and began to quickly braid her hair with swift-moving fingers. Oliver frowned. "What's wrong?" He asked loud enough to be heard over the ring of the bell, genuinely concerned. The girl shook her head.

"I have to go," She said quietly, her amber-green eyes wide with distress. Oliver's eyebrows knitted more tightly together as she scrambled to her feet, discarding her crown of wildflowers. She raced out of the small nest, and took off before Oliver could even say goodbye.

Thoroughly confused, Oliver stood up. The girl had simply disappeared without a trace, save for the flower crafts that she had left with him. The flower-bird wilted slowly before falling to the ground, and Oliver was suddenly hit by a strange feeling, and he knew he had to get out of the meadow. With his broomstick clenched in his hand, Oliver tore off through the flowers and the forest, stumbling as he went, and quickly clambered onto his broomstick, flying the rest of the way home. He quietly stole away to his room, taking care to avoid being noticed by anyone in his family.

* * *

By the next week, Oliver Wood had forgotten all about the strange girl with wildflowers in her hair.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Hey hi hello, it's me, Ebony. This is my latest and  
greatest story. Well, maybe not greatest, but it's  
currently the one that's closest to my heart. It's  
been in progress for about a year now, and I'm  
finally releasing it, in bits and pieces, to you  
amazing people on FanFiction dot net.**

**'Wildflowers' will be released in several chapters  
(there's five of them all planned out, there might  
be ten at the most), each of them depicting a  
certain time span of Oliver's life. From what I've  
planned, the story will stretch from about 1999,  
but will mostly take place during the Harry Potter  
books (obviously not at Hogwarts because Ollie  
graduates after Harry's third year).**

**I apologize if my writing isn't very good; writing  
is something that I do because I love to do it, not  
because I'm particularly good at it.**

**You can check out the trailer for this story at  
****youtube DOT com SLASH watch?v=UPuZYDj5YPA****  
because that's just a rad place to go if I tell you  
to. Somebody check it out, yeah?**

**I will post the second, muchmuchmuchmuch  
longer chapter tonight, and then the third part  
hopefully in a week, but don't hold me to that because  
there's a lot of words that need to be written yet.**

**Also check out ****this-ebony-bird DOT boards DOT net****  
because that's my forum where I keep everything and  
it looks nice and pretty.**

**Love,**

**Eb.**


	2. Part II: Meadow-sweet

Part II: Meadow-sweet

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_'Twas there that we parted: in yon shady glen._

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-September 1987-

He was sure that he had been in every compartment on the train so far, and all of them were occupied by older students who seemed to have no intention of letting a funny little first year with too-long limbs and prominent eyebrows sit with them, obnoxious first-year boys that had already decided which house they were going to be in, first-year boys that only stared at him in fear because he was so much taller than they were, or girls. All Oliver wanted to do was find a compartment alone where he could sit and read more of his treasured 'Quidditch Through The Ages' without feeling judged or any other sort of uncomfortable. He mentally blamed his parents for their unpunctuality, having almost missed the train and therefore plaguing him with the inability to find a good compartment. He was mentally swearing at Morgana and Merlin and any other deity he could think of, but not actually because he was a properly raised boy who didn't swear at any of the higher powers that may or may not exist, simply because he knew he had no reason to. However, this might have been the closest thing to a swearing reason that Oliver had ever had, as he stumbled around the innards of the quickly-moving train, his feet far more disoriented than when he was flying up in the air on one of his step-mum's old brooms. He wasn't so fond of this whole floor thing; wasn't the ground supposed to be the thing that kept still?

Ready to accept defeat in his quest to find a compartment all to himself and a preemptive 'sorry, didn'a mean to bother you' on the curve of his tongue, Oliver opened the next compartment, which happened to be the only one he hadn't intruded upon. To his disappointment, it was not empty. A young girl who looked too young to be starting at Hogwarts was sitting on the seat farthest away from the door, next to the windows. The blinds had been closed, leaving her in next-to darkness. Oliver's presence was accompanied by a small squeal of surprise from the strange girl in the corner, and he felt a familiar blush stain his face.

"S-sorry, sorry, sorry," He choked the words out - his Scottish accent more pronounced now that his nervousness had electrified his brain - and repeated them profusely until he was sure that he was just stalling. He also happened to have left the door open, and was only making a fool of himself in front of the young girl, who had to be a first year seeing as she didn't look older than nine, and therefore couldn't have been twelve or older. "Sorry, sorry, I'll... I'll just be, er, um, I'll," Oliver stammered, blinking far more than he had ever done in his life and feeling a bit silly, really, in his Puddlemere United sweater and jeans. He cleared his throat, which took much longer than it should have, and prepared to endure the rest of the journey in the loo, or try to remember which other compartments had the friendliest-looking companions. He felt a bit like a baby Krup that was at the mercy of an angry mother Hungarian Horntail: doomed.

"Stay or go, it doesn't matter; just close the door." A small, distinctly Londoner voice interrupted Oliver's internal chant of: I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die. It was the girl in the compartment who had halted his train of pessimistic thoughts. Oliver's eyes widened.

"Par... pardon?" He asked, still disoriented enough to stutter but not enough to forget that he had been raised to be a gentleman. He heard a small sigh from the girl's corner, one that hinted that she didn't want to have to repeat herself. It wasn't a sassy aversion to repetition, it was gentler, but Oliver could practically smell the undertone of dread in her voice. She murmured something, and the compartment was illuminated better with a warm, bright glow from her wand. He could see her better now, and was startled by the intensity of her hazel eyes that seemed to glow amber in the strange combined light of her wand, the cracks of natural light that seeped out the sides of the blinds, and the lit train corridor. Oliver blushed deeper, feeling quite in the spotlight, like a Billywig under a magnifying glass. He wasn't used to being stared at; in his large family he was one of many children that was dolled up with all their accomplishments and passed around, but he never lingered under the same pair of eyes for long.

"If you'd like to stay, that's alright." Her voice was quieter this time, and there was a slight resignation to it that Oliver was not used to. He gulped and nodded, hitching his rucksack higher up on his shoulder and stepped forth with the bravery of a Gryffindor, closing the door behind him so that there was no longer artificial light from the train interfering on the warmth and closure of the compartment. Oliver sat down on the seat opposite the girl, slipping his rucksack off and clasping his hands nervously, unsure as to what to do. He looked at her shyly, noticing that her long, dark brown hair was in a long plait - not that he really cared, he was just amazed to see that a girl that small could have that much hair on her head - and that she wore a plain grey dress with black flats - again, this didn't matter to him at all but it was interesting to wonder what kind of background she came from, judging by the conservative nature of her clothing - before looking away, completely embarrassed. The look of pure curiosity in her eyes reminded Oliver of his five year old half-sister, Emily, which only made him homesick. His stomach flopped as he thought of McCarthy House, and he studied a spot on the carpet in an attempt to assuage his nerves.

"I'm Oliver." He blurted out after a few silent seconds of him trying to gain something resembling composure, allowing himself another fraction of a glance at his new companion to gauge her reaction. She was displaying a shy smile, which made the corners of his mouth twitch into something resembling a nervous, lopsided grin.

"Lily," She replied quietly, tentatively - he could see thought after thought racing behind her eyes, calculating and considering - taking the hand he offered and shaking it courteously. Oliver let out a shaky laugh as he took his hand back after the diplomatic action, and stuffed it in his pocket to mimic its twin. "Oliver's a good name," Lily exhibited another smile, one that imprinted deeper upon her so that petite dimples formed on either side of her mouth. "It means 'olive tree', doesn't it?" Oliver gave a slight nod, although he honestly had never given a thought as to the etymology of his given name and didn't find it a problem that he hadn't. However, Lily seemed to have some knowledge of his name - which was strange, considering it wasn't hers, and why would people be interested in names anyway, much less those belonging to other people - and her deduction had made quite a lot of sense to him. He didn't stop her when she continued. "An olive tree is something sacred, according to Greek mythology, and-" Lily blushed a deep crimson. "I apologize." She finished curtly, fiddling with the tie on the end of her plait.

"'S'alrigh'." Oliver showed her a comforting smile, part of him itching to get back to his Quidditch book and part of him more curious to find out more about Lily, who he might say was his first and only friend at Hogwarts thus far.

"I don't usually talk much, I promise," Lily spoke again, still busy fixing the tie. Oliver shrugged and slouched in his seat, which made him feel rather daring, knowing that he had just broken one of his Granny McCarthy's most sacred policies - one of zero-tolerance in regards to poor posture - before running a hand through his own short, red-brown locks.

"I don' mind, really. I don' say much either, I s'pose, unless it's abou' Quidditch." He added, suddenly wondering if Lily was into Quidditch. The passive look on her face told him that she wasn't, exactly, but that she knew how to pretend to be.

"Honestly, I'm not a big fan." She tucked loose hair behind her ears. "I'm not against Quidditch, it's just that nobody in my family is into it, and therefore I'm not either." Oliver could see her chewing on her words and making sure they came out in the way that she wanted them to. Still, he was shocked. How could nobody in her family be into Quidditch? He was amazed, confused, and slightly appalled, but he let none of these emotions show, instead opting to ask her what House she wanted to be Sorted into. Lily shrugged and mulled over her answer for a good while before answering with a small "I suppose I'd be happy with any of them." Oliver blinked. His companion seemed to notice his confusion, and made an attempt to explain to him her reasoning. "I mean, all the Houses are good, aren't they? If there was one that had nothing good about it, then I'd assume they'd just get rid of it." He gave a small nod, pretending to understand her logic, when in fact he wasn't sure if he would be able to sustain a friendship with this girl, with her sense of logic that ultimately surpassed his. She would probably be stuck in Ravenclaw. "You see, Oliver," he snapped to attention at the mention of his name, "All the Houses are interesting. Slytherins, although they're often given a bad reputation for Dark Magic and purity of blood, aren't all bad and prejudiced. My mum told me that Slytherins were destined for greatness and ambitious, which makes sense because she was one, and she was really great," A faraway look overcame Lily's soft eyes, and Oliver could have sworn he saw tears form before they were furiously blinked away. "Anyway, Ravenclaws have intelligence and wit, Gryffindors are brave, and Hufflepuffs are fiercely loyal." Oliver nodded proudly, both his parents had been Hufflepuffs. "What House are you looking to go into, Oliver?" Lily asked, finally letting her plait be and clasping her hands in her lap.

"Hufflepuff." Oliver replied without a doubt. "Both my da and my step-mum were in Hufflepuff House, and they're two o' the best people I know." He couldn't help but notice the forlorn look in Lily's eyes, and how she seemed to wilt at the mention of his parents. He wasn't sure what that meant, but she seemed uncomfortable and a little sad, which made him feel a bit guilty for bringing up a topic that had upset her. It wasn't his fault, though, he hadn't known that parents wasn't an okay subject to discuss. Everyone talked about their parents, at least in first year, right? However, Oliver decided to let it be. If Lily wanted to talk about it, she would talk about it. If not, she wouldn't.

* * *

Oliver couldn't help but grin at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice: a familiar Scottish brogue was just what he needed to feel right at home. He looked around for Lily, but she was nowhere to be found. He wanted to be near somebody that he knew for the Sorting; he wanted to be able to share his fears with somebody that was just as freaked out as he was, especially since he knew he was going to be one of the last to be Sorted - what with his last name beginning with 'W', and all - and therefore there was much more time to worry and fret about which House he was going to be Sorted into.

As the first years crossed into the Great Hall, Oliver took a great and much needed gulp of air. He, along with the other first years, gasped with awe at the incredible sight of the Hall. Hogwarts was truly magnificent to behold. There was no ceiling, only the sky outside, which was a lovely mixture of dark blues and greys, and there were candles and torches everywhere, which flooded the room with warm, glowing light. Just as Oliver was wondering what happened when it rained - seeing as there wasn't a ceiling - he heard a redheaded first year close to him explain to no one in particular that there was a charm on the actually existent ceiling, and that it was magicked to reflect the sky while still maintaining its ability to protect the students from the elements. Oliver sniggered as the redhead was shoved a little bit by a tall girl with long blonde hair.

Oliver soon migrated to the front of the cluster of first years due to his long legs and actually being able to keep up with Professor McGonagall's brusque stride. However, when they arrived close to the raggedy old Sorting Hat on the stool, he quickly displaced himself to the back, knowing that there would be a long period of time while waiting for his name to be called.

'Barlow, Vydia!' was first to be called up: a frightened-looking girl with curly nutmeg-coloured hair. The Hat took quite a while to Sort her, and Oliver couldn't help but pity Vydia, who looked like she wouldn't like anything more than to discover there was an enchantment on the stone Hall floor that would force the stone tiles to swallow her up. She was finally placed in Slytherin.

The blonde that had shoved the know-it-all redhead - 'Clearwater, Penelope!' - marched confidently up to the Sorting Hat, which only took a fraction of a second to Sort her into Ravenclaw. Oliver let out a small snort of laughter at the amount of pride radiated by the young girl, before numbing himself to the rest of the Sorting.

"Walton, Lillian!" The young Scot suddenly snapped out of the numbness, looking around. It was him, Lily, and the redhead left. Lily's eyes widened with a modest display of fear, and slowly walked towards McGonagall. As she passed Oliver he reached out a hand to brush against hers, squeezing it reassuringly because he had learned that girls feel better when somebody is holding their hand, and frowning slightly when she nervously jerked her hand away at the contact. He waited patiently for minutes for Lily to finally be Sorted into Ravenclaw, and was greatly confused when the Hat directed her towards the cheering red and gold table of Gryffindor. He shoved his hands in his pockets, desperate to stifle his nerves. The redheaded boy - 'Weasley, Percival!' - adjusted his glasses and strode with fake confidence - he was standing tall but Oliver could see his knees shaking, even concealed under his robes - before taking a seat on the stool and letting McGonagall place the Sorting Hat upon his head. Percival scrunched his eyes shut.

"Another Weasley, eh?" The Hat chuckled aloud. "How many of you are there?" He asked rhetorically. Percival's eyes tried to shut even tighter. "Better be... GRYFFINDOR!" His eyes opened wearily, not even ashamed of the relief that washed over his freckled face. Gryffindor table cheered loudly, especially two redheaded boys that Oliver assumed to be the other Weasleys that the Hat had been talking about.

"Wood, Oliver!" McGonagall read the last name on the list, making eye contact with the last first year. Oliver paled, forcing his quivering legs to move towards the Hat. He shakily sat down, gripping the seat of the stool with his hands until he was sure that his knuckles had blanched white. He stole a glance at Lily, who flashed him a small, reassuring smile, and closed his eyes, listening to the comments that the Hat was making.

_'Very good, Mister Wood. Very nice. You'd do well in any of these Houses, it seems. Slytherin House would benefit greatly if you were to be in it, you know.'_ Oliver's eyes snapped open in panic at the words spoken inside his head. He didn't want to be in Slytherin, no matter what Lily had said before. He didn't want to be around the vicious kinds of people that Slytherin was famous for. _'Not Slytherin? Alright, well, how about Ravenclaw?'_ Oliver mentally shrugged. The Hat chuckled inside his head. _'Hmm... no, not Ravenclaw. You have the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, and the bravery of a Gryffindor... both parents were in Hufflepuff?'_ He could picture the Hat sifting through his brain, flicking through memories and thoughts like they were pictures in a photo album. He felt one particular, rather hidden and ignored memory be tugged gently before being put back without being able to figure out what it was. _'Well, this little picture makes my choice all the easier.'_ Oliver frowned. What choice would the Hat make? "GRYFFINDOR!" Slightly surprised, he headed off towards the Gryffindor table, where he took a seat in between Lily and an older boy with black hair, smiling radiantly. He was no longer simply Oliver Wood. He was a Gryffindor.

* * *

-December 1987-

"Are you going home for Christmas?" Oliver asked politely as he cut his sausages up neatly into appropriately-sized pieces. Lily fidgeted in her seat at the table, shaking her head and picking anxiously at a slice of toast.

"Mother thinks it would be better if I weren't there." She admitted quietly. Oliver frowned, wanting to delve further into the conversation but not really wanting to put pressure on his friend. He and Lily were close, but not close enough to share all their secrets. He could tell that Lily had many mysteries tucked neatly under the cuffs of her sleeves, but knew that she wasn't going to trust him with them, not yet, at least. She avoided his eyes, much like he had been wont to do during their first meeting on the train. He looked at her from across the table, moving so that he was in her line of vision. She attempted to hide her grin, and focused on her breakfast plate. Oliver frowned, sitting back.

"You okay, lass?" The concern radiating from his gentle brown eyes was genuine as he searched her face for a hint that might help him figure out what had his friend so upset. Anxiety was written all over her face, and when she finally met his eyes it made him feel quite sad. Oliver would admit that he was empathetic, but he never knew just how much so until he met Lillian Walton. Lily sighed.

"I'd really rather not talk about it, Oliver." Her voice was quiet, limp, and the Scotsman across from her could practically feel the distress projecting itself off of her. What was wrong with his best friend?

"C'mon, Lily," Oliver pleaded, upset as to why his friend was being so secretive. She was obviously displeased with something, and she had a look in her eyes that was a mixture of shock, hurt, and worry. She was not alright, and it hurt Oliver to see her in this state.

"I'm going to class. Excuse me." She murmured, wiping the corners of her mouth delicately - though she'd barely eaten anything - and starting off towards their first class of the day, Transfiguration, without the usual spring in her step. He furrowed his brow and stared after her.

"What's eatin' her?" Percy Weasley's older brother, Charlie, asked. Oliver shrugged, watching as his friend left the Great Hall with slumped shoulders. He honestly hadn't a clue as to what was bothering her; he had tried to get it out of her a couple weeks ago, but she had easily evaded the subject and distracted him with the topic of Quidditch.

Oliver and Charlie had become friends over Quidditch. Charlie had been Gryffindor's Seeker since last year, and was incredibly good. Although he wasn't on the team, Oliver still came out to practices - often finding a way to coax Lily into coming with him - and watched as the red and gold athletes zoomed around the pitch on Cleansweeps, Comets, and even one old Featherlight - belonging to Tim Carroll, seventh year, Beater - and rehearse Captain McCamus' intricate plays. Charlie, being Percy's older brother, became acquainted with Oliver and the two became fast friends ever since.

"I'm gonna go," Oliver said, gesturing over his shoulder to the door that Lily had just exited, and displacing himself from his spot at the table. He rushed out the doorway and mounted the staircase towards the Transfiguration classroom. In his mind he ran through all the things he knew that would have bothered Lily. Maybe she got a bad mark on an essay? Maybe... was it something that he had done? Did he say the wrong thing? Was he talking too much? Was he too different from her? Did he say too much about Quidditch? Did she find him boring? Had he offended her? Did he cross some line that he knew nothing about? Did she not want to be friends with him anymore? Had she ever wanted to be friends with him? Had she simply been polite all this time? He should have known. He should have known that she never really cared for him. He should have just left her there in that compartment on the first of September. He shouldn't have ever bothered her, which was clearly what he was doing. Lily didn't really care for him after all. He was just a boy. She was a girl, and probably wanted nothing more than to do girl things without being interrupted by Oliver and his stupid obsession with Quidditch.

* * *

By the time he had reached the hallway that harboured the Transfiguration classroom, Oliver was feeling quite fragile. However, a figure by one of the large glass windows had all of his fragile feelings leaping away, ashamed to have called themselves fragile. Lily was standing next to the window, looking out across Hogwarts' grounds. She looked so sad, so small, so vulnerable that Oliver, even though he was only a boy and only twelve - both he and Lily had late birthdays, and were the two oldest students in Gryffindor in their year - felt the urge to run to her and hug her. He had never seen anyone look so broken.

* * *

Oliver Wood stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas.

* * *

-June 1988-

He craned his neck, looking earnestly for his parents. With a sigh of resignation, he decided that they were probably late again. His father was always forgetting something that would make them late, whether it be his wand, or matching socks, or anything of the sort. Sometimes he even forgot to Apparate them to the right place, or he forgot the name of the place they were Flooing to. He was standing next to his trunk and the silver cage that held a sleeping Blacker - the Scops owl he had received for Christmas from his father, named for Oliver's Quidditch hero that, much to Oliver's chagrin, had had to retire two years back due to an extraordinary Bludger accident - and was waiting patiently for his parents. Left and right students and their parents were exiting the platform, chattering away about all that had happened since their last reunions. Oliver caught bits and pieces of conversations, amusing himself with the sorts of subjects that were going on.

Somebody bumped into him.

"Sorry," Oliver apologized anyway, even though it wasn't his fault at all. He was always polite, unless he was around Marcus Flint, a repulsive Slytherin a year ahead of Oliver, who couldn't tell his right hand from a bright turquoise wolverine that had been set on fire. "Sorry, I didn'a see-" He stopped speaking abruptly. It was Lily, dressed in that unusual grey dress. She had disappeared when they had gotten off the train, muttering something about a tight schedule. She was crouched on the ground, picking up things that had dropped from her arms. He quickly bent down to help her, looking earnestly into her fearful hazel eyes.

"I wanted to say goodbye." Lily murmured, dropping her things on the ground again just to pick them up. Oliver understood. She was stalling. She wasn't allowed to speak to him for some strange reason or didn't want to be seen talking to him, so she was making up excuses. She was breaking the rules.

"Have a good summer, aye?" Oliver smiled at her, trying to coax one from between her own lips. His efforts weren't fruitless, as the familiar dimples appeared on either side of her mouth as she allowed herself a small grin. They stood up, he handed her the items he had gathered - a collection of miniscule notebooks, her first year History of Magic textbook, a quill, and three Chocolate Frog cards that he had given her earlier in the year - and she turned to walk away. However, she turned back, holding out a hand for him to shake.

"Goodbye, Oliver." She said solemnly, and something about her tone chilled him. It was like she wasn't sure if she'd see him again, like there was something preventing her from coming back next year. "You have a good summer too, practice for Quidditch so you get on the House team next year, alright?" He nodded, shaking her hand.

"See you come September, Lily," He replied quietly, gently, as if he spoke any louder she might break. She nodded, holding his hand for a fraction of a second too long before slipping away. Oliver watched subtly as she approached a tall man with perfectly coiffed back brown hair - with matching dashing goatee - in a tailored, three-piece black suit. The tall man roughly placed a hand on Lily's shoulder, pulling her to him, and tensely embraced her before DisApparating with the familiar 'crack!'.

"Oliver!" Oliver heard his parents call him, and turned around to see his father and stepmother smiling brilliantly. Before walking over to them and seeing them for the first time since September, he looked down at his hand, and the carefully folded piece of paper that lay in it.

* * *

_I'll miss you._

_-Lily_

* * *

-October 1988-

"You've changed, Oliver." Her voice was calm, void of any obvious emotion. But Oliver knew this voice well enough; he could sense the hurt that ran coolly under the tone of her words, like an underground stream. He could hear her over the steadily pouring rain, his ears tuned carefully to the frequency of her voice. Lily's hazel eyes were downcast, carefully trained on the floor and not at him. He desperately tried to get her to look at him using only the emotion in his own brown eyes, but it didn't work. He made a sudden attempt to grab her hands, which were clasped formally in her lap, but she jerked them out of reach.

"I hav'na, not really, lass," He replied, pleading with her to see that he hadn't really changed. Well, of course he had changed, he was thirteen now, on the Quidditch team, and becoming much more ambitious. But he was still Oliver; he was still her friend; he was still the guy that she met on the train last year.

"Ever since you started hanging out with the Quidditch team you've become somebody different, Oliver." Lily shook her head, raising it slowly to meet his gaze. He almost broke into a thousand pieces then and there. She looked so sad, so disappointed. He felt a twinge of anger. She had no right to be upset with him; he was happy being on the Quidditch team. They understood him and he knew that being on the team would help him on his way to being on the Puddlemere Quidditch team, which had been his dream longer than he could remember. "You're obsessed with the game, and I..." She trailed off, looking away again and fiddling with her braid. She always did this when she was nervous or upset. His anger dissolved into nothingness.

"Lily," Oliver breathed. She shook her head, a few loose tendrils of dripping, dark chocolate hair falling in her face, only to be quickly swept back. She looked him in the eyes again, the familiar hazel warming him and filling him up. When they left to look down at her toes, he felt empty, like something was missing.

"I just don't see where I fit anymore."

* * *

Oliver ran across the Quidditch pitch bleachers, his crimson and gold robes streaking behind him like the wings of a magnificently coloured bird. Ahead of him, Lily kept on running, black sneakers moving quicker than he had ever seen them move before. It was at times like this where he wished he could turn herself into a bird and fly away. He shouted at his friend's retreating form but she ignored them or didn't hear them over the steady patter of the rain. She raced off of the pitch, Oliver following desperately behind. He forced his legs to keep moving, even though they screamed at him, even if he had no idea which direction he was going in as his overcast world swam before him. His hair was plastered to his forehead and raindrops fell in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he concentrated on Lily and somehow persuaded himself to keep going.

"Lilyflower!" He bellowed, praying that she could hear him. "Please!" She finally stopped, and Oliver staggered towards her, slipping and sliding on the muddy ground. "Please," he gasped. "Please, don' go. Don' leave me," He panted, holding her shoulders. He felt himself tear up slightly at the idea of losing his best friend. Sure, he thought all the guys and girls on the Quidditch team were great, but they weren't his Lily. They could never fill up the nook that she had created for herself inside his heart. She was his best friend, and that was stronger than any bond he had with any team. "You're my best friend, Lily," He clutched her tighter, unable to distinguish whether she was crying or whether it was simply the rain running down her face.

"Ol-Oliver," Her voice was soft, but clear and loud enough that he could hear her. Oliver brought her to him, hugging her delicate frame against his. He knew she was crying as he felt her shoulders shake with each sob, and he realized that he had tears streaming down his face as well. Lily hugged him back, her arms thrown around his torso and her face buried in his chest.

"Lilyflower," He murmured, wanting nothing more than to stand there hugging her forever. He had his best friend, and now he knew he wasn't going to lose her.

* * *

-December 1989-

"You're telling me that you can't get a date for the Yule Ball?" Charlie asked skeptically. Oliver nodded glumly, not looking up from his supper plate. He idly pushed food around before finally looking up, his glazed eyes drifting around the grandiose halls of Beauxbatons. They were here for the Triwizard Tournament, cheering on Hogwarts' champion, a seventh-year Slytherin named Lindy Vickery. She was a nice girl, as Slytherins went, and was the older sister of one of Charlie and Oliver's housemates, Kimberlyn, who was a year older than the latter. Lindy certainly had the skills to win the Tournament, and she was ambitious enough that even if she wasn't the most talented of the three champions - the other two were: Dmitri Ianevski, a small and wiry lad from Durmstrang that had Charlie's reflexes and an imposing sort of air; and Gabriel Canard, a graceful Beauxbatons boy who had an impressive knack for calculations and hypotheses of possible outcomes, as well as a wide vocabulary of spells, some of which Oliver had never even heard of before - Lindy would win on guts and sheer will to win.

"I'm only third year, Charlie, so I'm not technically allowed to go anyway," Oliver shrugged casually. The second-eldest Weasley chuckled.

"Nah, you're fourteen, you're allowed to. Dumbledore said." He blew a stray strand of ginger hair out of his face, gesturing to the younger boy with his fork. Charlie kept talking, but the Scot half ignored what he was saying. Then, he heard Lily's name mentioned, and blinked, clearing the mist from his eyes and focusing again on Charlie.

"Sorry, what was that?" He asked. The redheaded sixth-year chuckled.

"Why don't you just take Lily?" He suggested as if it was the obvious thing to do, nodding his head in Lily's direction. The lithe British girl was sitting quietly with a mix of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students, listening to the topic of conversation. Oliver's brow furrowed.

"Nah," He shook his head. Lily wouldn't want to go to the Ball with him, it would just make things awkward, seeing as neither of them felt that way about the other. Besides, she was sure to want to go with another boy. She wouldn't want to go with him. She was pretty enough that somebody else would ask her out, right? Oliver was counting on it. Of course, he would have to make sure that Lily and her date were alright together and that whoever asked her to go to the Ball was worthy of her. Perhaps Lily wouldn't even want to go to the Ball anyway, perhaps she would rather stay behind in her room and not have to deal with the crowds of eager students or decking herself out to the nines. It wasn't Lily's scene. And even if it was, Oliver wasn't the person she would go with.

"Come on, Oliver!" Charlie whined. "Just go as friends, at least." He widened his eyes and stuck out his lips in an expression that again convinced Oliver that Charlie was the more immature of the two, despite the fact that he was three years older. Adamant, Oliver shook his head.

It wasn't that Kimberlyn Vickery wasn't a good-looking lass, or that there was anything wrong with her. She was easily one of the prettiest girls in fourth year, and a Gryffindor to boot. It was just that Oliver wasn't too keen on going to the Ball in the first place. He'd never admit this to anyone, especially not Charlie, but he slightly regretted not asking Lily to the Ball. He knew deep down that he would never have as much fun with Kim as he would with Lily. Besides, Kim actually enjoyed parties and Balls, whereas Oliver and Lily could simply have one dance and retire for the night, if they so desired.

* * *

Oliver was waiting patiently at the large, double doors to Beauxbatons' ballroom for Kim to make her grand entrance. His eyes were trained on the winding, white marble staircase, and he drummed his fingers on his thighs nervously, before habitually straightening the collar of his deep blue dress robes and adjusting the matching bow tie. Charlie and his date - Sophie, a pretty Beauxbatons brunette - were standing next to him, engaged in conversation with each other. Now, Oliver couldn't understand much French, but from the hooded look in both of their eyes, the huskiness in Charlie's voice, and the sly tone of the brunette, he was certain that they weren't talking about the Tournament. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself time to recharge before the Ball finally began.

"Oliver!" It was Kim. Oliver's eyes snapped open, and he went slightly slack-jawed at the sight of his date. Kim Vickery was certainly a beautiful girl, especially for a fourteen year-old. Her ice-blonde hair had been curled into ringlets that bounced around her as she glided down the stairs, her dress was something to behold, and even a young teenaged Oliver could appreciate it. It was strapless - Kim got points for being able to hold it up - with a beaded bodice and an empire waist. The skirt - Oliver supposed that was what it was: the part from the bodice to the hem - was asymmetrically pleated and the entire dress was an airy, seafoam colour that made Kim look like she was floating. She was wearing little makeup, with pearl earrings and a necklace to match. "So?" Kim asked, looking unused to having attention on her, especially the attention of anyone she had passed on her way to her date.

"You look wonderful," Oliver breathed. Kim blushed faintly and turned away.

"You look dashing, yourself," She replied with shy, brilliantly white smile. The Scotsman felt his own face heat up.

"Lookin' good, Little Vickery," Charlie reassured her easily, and she blushed and grinned again. "Ol, I'm gonna go try to find Luke and Declan, alright?" Oliver nodded, and the older couple left, leaving the younger pair alone in the crowded hall. He cleared his throat anxiously, hoping that the Ball would start soon and that he wouldn't be this awkward for the whole night. But honestly, he had no idea what to do! He wasn't used to talking to girls that weren't Lily, and quite frankly had no idea how to talk to girls like Kimberlyn. She was outgoing and sweeter than sugar, while Lily was quiet. Lily was a good listener, while Kim was a good talker. Oliver sighed, throwing caution to the wind and turning the page that started this brand-new adventure of talking to girls.

"Kim, I-" He was cut off by the entrance of Madame Maxime, Beauxbatons headmistress.

"_Madames et monsieurs, entrez!"_

Kim took Oliver's arm, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and he, like a gentleman, guided her elegantly into the extravagant ballroom.

* * *

As they moved through the motions of the first dance, a glimmer of white caught Oliver's eye. He blinked a few times, unable to comprehend exactly what he was seeing. Lily. Oliver was seeing Lily. He currently couldn't believe that his best friend was just fourteen years old. Her long, loose brown hair had been pinned just behind her ears so that it kept off of her face but still followed its own rules, and there was a sprig of petite, elegant white flowers - meadow-sweet - tucked behind her left ear. Her dress was absolutely stunning: it was the colour of a onyx, but seemed to shimmer with the entire spectrum of colours as she moved. The sleeveless top - to Oliver's great relief - didn't show cleavage, and instead went all the way up to her neck, with a bateau neckline. The bodice was tight until it touched the belted waist of her dress, where the skirt flared out around her naturally with pleats as she danced. The skirt in question was very much done in the style of many nineteen-fifties and sixties poodle skirts - without the poodle, of coursefell just past her knees - not the classic length of wizarding world ball standards, but not uncommon - and revealed shapely, tanned legs that Oliver thought her date did not deserve to see. On her feet were a pair of kitten-heeled, black and white houndstooth-print pumps with little black bows on the pointed toes. In her own strange, unusual way, Lily was breathtaking. She looked ethereal, like she was a cruel sort of hologram or a mirage placed in front of Oliver just to taunt him with the realization that Lily was one of the most beautiful people he had ever met. Oliver could only watch as his best friend - his gorgeous best friend - was spun around perfectly by a handsome, olive-skinned Beauxbatons boy. The Scot forced himself to look away.

* * *

She was still dancing with the Beauxbatons bloke, elegantly spinning and stepping with the ease of a professional dancer. She even looked like she was enjoying herself, smiling slightly as her date spoke to her in broken English. Oliver was sure to keep an eye on them, wary of older boys - Sophie told him that Lily's date, Alexandre, was sixteen and therefore approximately two whole years older than Lily - and their intentions. He hadn't been friends with Charlie for two years without hearing about some rather distasteful scenarios. And so, though he made an effort to make sure that Kim had a good time, he took it upon himself to guard Lily from afar. He hated the thought of her getting hurt.

* * *

"Kiss me, Oliver, please. It's the last dance, we've been here all night and you haven't even tried to make a move. You asked me to go with you to the ball, so what did you expect? Kiss me."

"Kim, I... I can'a."

* * *

Lillian Walton was a girl. She wasn't just his friend, but she was a girl, a real live girl, with... girl parts and all those things that made Oliver blush furiously whenever Charlie or anybody else brought them up in conversation. But Lillian Walton was a girl. Lily, his Lilyflower, was a girl.

* * *

"Are you alright, Oliver? You look upset." Lily's hand was on his shoulder. He shook his head. "Please, is there something wrong? Did Kimberlyn do something?" She asked desperately. "Do you want me to go get Charlie?" Oliver only replied with another shake of his head and a deep sigh. "Do you want me to leave you be?" Her voice was softer this time, melancholic.

"Stay," Oliver whispered after Lily had stood up to leave, not getting an answer from him. "I'm fine, lass, I just... I'm a eejit, Lily," He admitted. Lily let out a small giggle, squeezing his shoulder lovingly. The combined sound and action inspired a hesitant smile in Oliver, and he obliged the notion, which spread into a full-fledged grin as he met Lily's eyes.

"But you're my eejit." She replied gently, softly mocking his Scottish slang word. He smiled. He would gladly be her eejit for all of time. Anything for his best friend.

* * *

His best friend was a girl.

* * *

-May 1990-

"Lily, lass?" He spoke quietly to the girl whose head rested in the crook of his shoulder. The train ride back to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons was long, even with aid from magic, and Oliver was sure that Lily had fallen asleep. He was answered with a small, contented sigh as she shifted slightly in her seat, still leaning into him. He felt an untethered grin break loose, letting it overtake his face. As always, it was only him and Lily in their train compartment, and he was thankful that there was no one else there to see the rosy tinge that was gracing the back of his neck, his ears, and the apples of his cheeks. Oliver adjusted the arm he had around his best friend, realizing that he had lost most of the feeling in it and that it was starting to go numb. This movement half-roused Lily from her slumber, and she nestled deeper into Oliver's side, her arm thrown lazily across his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. He was happy. He wanted nothing more than to sit here forever with Lily tucked affectionately in his arms, soothed by the rhythmic clack of the train upon the tracks.

He was struck by a peculiar notion, one that he absentmindedly pushed aside. It tugged at him, creating an itch in a place that would be impossible for him to scratch: deep inside, near the middle of his chest, but a little more to his left than in the centre. It confused him, but it gnawed so incessantly that after a few minutes, Oliver felt almost pained with the sheer intensity of the notion. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to force the thought out of his head. Lily shifted again, letting out a short, low hum that Oliver was familiar with. It was a noise that he only heard when she was most comfortable or content, and the sound assuaged the itch in Oliver's chest cavity for a second before the notion returned, clawing at him like a dog whining to be let inside. He sighed, finally giving into his thoughts. He tucked his head down, letting his lips rest briefly, gently, softly, feather-light, on the crown of Lily's head.

* * *

-July 1990-

"Ollie?"

"Aye, mum?"

"Are yeh alrigh'?"

"I guess so."

"Oliver..."

"I'm alrigh', ma."

* * *

-November 1990-

"LILY? LILY?! LILLIAN WALTON?! LILY, WHERE ARE YOU?! LIL- oh, Merlin, no. No, Lily... LILY! Lily, Lilyflower, please wake up, Lily, c'mon, wake up. Don' do this to me, Lil, please... HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! SOMEBODY!"

* * *

"Mister Wood..?"

"I'm not leaving her, Professor Dumbledore."

"I had suspected as much, Mister Wood."

"What's wrong with her, Professor? What's wrong with Lily?"

"I am not permitted to disclose this information, Mister Wood."

"But I'm her best friend, sir!"

"Lord Walton has requested that medical information regarding his daughter remain confidential, that it not be shared with persons outside the family."

"I'm her best friend, Professor! I'm her family at Hogwarts!"

"I am genuinely sorry, Mister Wood."

"Then why-"

"However, I'm afraid that there is more to it than any of us realize, including Miss Walton. Her father is the only man who is privileged with the ability to see the whole portrait, so to speak."

* * *

Oliver practically yelled the password at the portrait of the Fat Lady, leaping through the portrait hole and racing through the common room. He heard Charlie yell his name and chose to ignore the older boy, climbing the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories two at a time. He grabbed his Cleansweep Seven and much to the confusion of Percy and the two other boys they shared a room with - Evan Stillwater and Matt Griffin - tore out of the room, eyes flashing. He quickly began to exit Gryffindor tower, flying on his feet down stairs and corridors until he burst out onto the courtyard flagstones. He mounted his broomstick and kicked off furiously, soaring off into the late evening mist.

Lily was hurt.

She had been awfully quiet during supper two days ago, and disappeared almost immediately after the meal was over. Oliver, being the kind of bloke he was, went looking for her instead of studying for his Potions test the next morning. He had been worried when he found her notebooks, the ones she wrote her stories in, lying abandoned in her usual nook in the old Astronomy tower. He and Lily had stumbled upon the spot in their second year, and had claimed it as their own; nicknaming it '_Baile_', which meant 'home' in a strand of Gaelic that Oliver was unfamiliar with. _Baile_ was empty, with only Lily's assorted journals littering the floor. She would never leave her stories unattended - she guarded them too personally and even rarely let Oliver peek at them - unless... and then the first strand of the thread that was Oliver Wood broke. Something had forced Lily away from her beloved writings. The Gryffindor lion inside of him had roared at the thought of somebody hurting his Lilyflower, and he had gathered up her notebooks before fleeing _Baile_ and searching for his best friend. He had bellowed her name in what he was sure was every corridor, every nook and cranny in the school. He had paled at the thought of Lily trapped in a secret passageway or room that he was not familiar with, and had forced himself to keep moving. He had raced out into the courtyard, not caring that it was pouring freezing-cold rain onto his skin, a repulsive wet blanket that draped over him like a nightmare. He had shouted himself hoarse before he finally saw the figure crumpled on the ground.

Oliver blinked back tears, remembering the limp form of his Lilyflower and the sharp pain in his gut. He leaned forward on his broom, praying that the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away. He didn't know if Lily was going to be alright; he didn't know anything, thanks to her damn father. He gripped the handle of his broom so tightly that for a moment he was almost sure it would break, fuelled by rage at Lord Walton and whoever had done this to his best friend.

Where was Lord Walton when his daughter was lying, unconscious, in the Hospital Wing? Where was he? Why wasn't he here, being her father? Why did he simply whisk her off at the end of the year without so much as a suggestion of a smile at being reunited with his daughter? Where was he when his daughter received top marks in their Transfiguration class ? Where was he when it was his daughter's birthday every single year? Lily had never received so much as an owl from her father on November twenty-first of each year. Where was he when his daughter had grown into a lovely young woman? Where was he when his daughter needed him the most? Where was he when he needed to stop being Lord Walton and start being Lily's father?

Oliver persuaded his broom higher as he neared the Quidditch pitch, soaring above the pitch and spiraling up, up, up into the sky and away from all the problems and torment of the ground below. All of his fears and angers and frustrations, all of his problems merged together and pushed out of his throat in the form of a scream that tore at the soft lining of his throat and the tenderness inside the gentle Scotsman. He manoeuvred his broom, twisting it into a sharp dive that had him plunging towards the ground at breakneck speed.

"OLIVER! OLIVER WOOD!" Charlie's magically amplified voice broke through Oliver's anguish, and the younger boy carefully adjusted his broom into a hover. The redheaded seventh-year ran towards his Quidditch Captain, propelled on muscular legs. Oliver hovered a few feet above him, tears streaming down his face and his shoulders heaving with unabashed sobs. "Oliver," Charlie's voice was at its normal volume again. "Oliver, you need to-"

"Don' tell me what I need to do!" Oliver yelled back, overcome with fury and teenaged angst. "Lily could be dyin', and nobody's doing anything to help her, and it's all because of her bloody father and his bloody rules!" The mist that enveloped them crackled with the magical electricity of Oliver's rage. "I'm her best friend, and I don' know how to help her because nobody will bloody tell me how!" He punched the air angrily, finally touching back onto the ground. He crumpled to his knees, looking sadly up at the Seeker. "I can'a fix her this time, Charl." He croaked, his tone heavy with tiredness and the ache in his chest that he couldn't heal.

* * *

He didn't go to any of his classes. Nothing mattered anymore, because after five long days, Lily had finally woken up.

* * *

"Lily, lass, c'mon,"

"No, Oliver,"

"Tell me what the owl from your da said. Please? I'll be the nicest best friend ever, Lily. C'mon, Lilyflower, tell me. Please?"

"Oliver! Drop it."

* * *

-December 1990-

"I think I was hexed, Oliver."

"Who dunnit? I'll jinx their bloody face off!"

"I don't know. I can't remember a thing, but I wish I could. It was like... it was like I fell asleep up in _Baile_ and then I heard voices, and the next thing you know I'm in the Hospital Wing and I've woken up."

* * *

-April 1991-

"Go on, say it. I can tell you're gon'ta. Just spit it out, aye?"

"Alright... your team is really, really bad."

"That hurt, Lilyflower."

"You told me to say it!"

"Well, aye, but-"

"Stop being such a girl, Oliver Wood."

"Not bein'a girl..."

"Well quit your whining then!"

"Charlie shoulda been Captain this year. He'da been good at it. Not me; I'm rubbish at this bloody Captain joke."

"You're not a bad Captain, Oliver. You just need to focus a little bit more. Besides, Amethyst hasn't been playing her best this year, and you have a bunch of junior players. Honestly, you and Charlie are the best on the team, and you're both solitary positions. I mean, Fred and George have worked together because they're twins, but Angelina is more about her personal skill - which, don't get me wrong, she has a lot of it - and Patrick - although he's good as well - lets his temper get the best of him, plus he's making moves on Angelina and she doesn't know what to do; she's only twelve, you know. Amethyst doesn't know what to do because her fellow Chasers don't know what to do, so you're having trouble with their ability to score goals."

"You talk a lot, Walton."

"Sod off."

* * *

-June 1991-

"I'm going to miss you, Oliver."

"You say that every year, Lily. Summer's only two months; you'll be fine, lass."

Although he wouldn't admit it except quietly in the comforts of his room, the two months of summer vacation was two months too long for Oliver.

* * *

-August 1991-

"What's the problem, Ol?"

"Nothin', da."

"Not by the way you're pacin' around the room like a bleedin'... er..."

"I get what you're sayin', da."

"Oh. Aye, good, aye. Ol, I known you for your entire life, and I never seen you so quiet-like. I know you were always a reserved kinda lad, but you seem upset about somethin', almost depressed, and it's got your mum on m' case."

"Sorry, da."

"Don' be sorry, Ol, just tell us what's the matter so that Mary can sleep a little better tonight and I can kick the shite outta whoever's botherin' you."

"Da, I'm fine."

"C'mon, lad, you don' expect me to fall for that bleedin' rubbish, aye? I hav'na been on the Wizengamot for ten years just to take any damn excuse you feel like givin' me. Somethin's goin' on with you, Oliver, and it has for a while na, so you should just buck up and spit it out 'fore your mum has a fit and 'fore this somethin' eats you from the inside out."

* * *

-September 1991-

"Oliver!" Oliver practically dropped his trusty old Cleansweep Seven in his overwhelming excitement at hearing the familiar voice of his best friend, looking wildly around to find its owner, who was hidden somewhere in the crowd of people on platform nine and three quarters. "Oliver!" His name sounded out again, somewhere that was now behind him. He turned around and finally caught a glimpse of a long brown plait that was whipping wildly through the air, proceeding to grin broadly. A smiling sixteen year old girl raced towards him, weaving in and out through the tight spaces in between witches and wizards, adults and students and trunks. Oliver placed his trunk and broom roughly on the ground, letting her launch herself into his arms and abandon all sense of her usual decorum.

"Lilyflower," He replied into the crook of her neck, hugging her slight form to his tall, muscular one. He could feel her pulse in her neck, which was beating wildly and vibrantly. Her excitement ran through her blood. He closed his eyes, relishing the warmth of her tiny body. "I missed you." Oliver murmured, hating that he had to go two months without seeing his best friend. It was true that his family was great, and that it was nice to see the Weasleys and the Stillwaters - his best male friend aside from Charlie was Evan, the youngest Stillwater and one of Oliver's roommates - in the sunny months of July and August, but there was nothing like being reunited with the girl he had met before Charlie and Evan - before he had met anybody at Hogwarts! Lily made him feel like he was finally in the right place.

"Ollie's got a girlfriend?" Two synchronized voices were in Oliver's hearing distance, and he could have killed their deliverers for ruining his moment of joy. He opened his eyes, raising one burly eyebrow at the pair of ginger-haired third years and praying that he wasn't blushing. Of course, he was as redder than the Weasleys' hair, but he pretended not to notice the heat that spread across his face and neck.

"Fred, George." He acknowledged them politely. "You've met Lily." The girl in question spun around, her arms still around Oliver, and inclined her head in the direction of the Weasley twins: her own silent salute. "And nah, we're not together. We're friends, lads." He muttered, glaring at them. They raised their eyebrows, the mischievous twinkle sparkling brighter than before, and shrugged before walking away, carrying on a near-silent conversation that part of Oliver was itching to hear - the other part of him was glad that their voices were quiet enough that he didn't have to listen to what they were saying. Oliver shook his head like a dog clearing water from its ears as he tried to block his imagination from wondering what exactly the twins were discussing, and directed his brown eyes back on Lily. A pink tinge was fading from her shy-smiling face, and he wondered if her eyes had ever had that much green in them.

"You had a good summer, then?" She offered weakly, obviously recovering from the overwhelming buzz of an aura that surrounded Fred and George Weasley. Lily often claimed that just being around them exhausted her, which had greatly amused Oliver when she first admitted this to him.

He nodded, releasing her and picking up his belongings before taking her hand - Oliver had taken a second to bend down and strap his beloved broom to his trunk, next to Blacker's cage, so that he would have a hand free to hold onto Lily - and tugging her towards the train, making sure that she had her trunk and rucksack. She clutched his hand tightly, and he frowned at the disoriented, panicked look in her hazel eyes. In the going-on-five years that he had known her, Lily had never liked crowds: so this day was always one of the hardest for her, being surrounded by people and all. He squeezed her hand and offered a reassuring smile, its echo showing up on her own lips.

"It's gonna be fine, Lilyflower."

* * *

It was two weeks into school, and already Oliver was overloaded. He was Quidditch Captain, again, and so he was quite happy to be back in the small Captain's office, but the problem was the team. Both Amethyst and Charlie - his first Chaser and Seeker, respectively - had graduated, the latter being one of the best players on the team. Flint, new Slytherin Captain, had made his way over to the Gryffindor table during the first feast just to reassure the Scot that Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup again, for what must be the millionth time in a row, which was a hyperbole but felt like reality to Oliver. Marcus Flint made Oliver's blood boil. They had occasionally been pointed out as Quidditch rivals, but this was untrue. They weren't merely rivals, but hardcore enemies; Flint hated Oliver, and Oliver hated Flint. Wood and Flint should never be brought together, unless the intention was to start a fire. However, Oliver couldn't deny that Flint was a good Quidditch player, and that Slytherin had a decent team, or at least they did last year. What did Oliver have? Not much. A ragtag bunch of young hopefuls, that's what he had. The oldest member of the team, aside from Oliver, was Angelina Johnson... a third year. To be fair, he did have the famous Harry Potter, who had to be damn good because he was the youngest Seeker in a century: being only in his first year, which was sure to knock the smug smirk - if one could call it a smirk; it was more like an impression of a baboon baring its teeth - off of Flint's face. As well, during tryouts, Katherine Bell - Katie she insisted - had wowed Oliver with some spectacular tricks, and she had been a little league Chaser for her entire childhood. She had a really great focus, and connected immediately with Angelina and Alicia - the latter, a Chaser who had been on his reserve team last year - during their first practice.

Oliver was currently in his office, working with his miniatures. Lily had charmed a chessboard and its pieces into replicas of the pitch and his team - he had thanked her numerous times for her extensive skills in Transfiguration - that he found incredibly useful. He could usually be found pouring over it, when he wasn't studying furiously for tests or scribbling out essays. Fifth year really was taking a bite out of him, and he wouldn't be surprised if all that could be handed back to his parents at the end of a year was a battered and bloody corpse.

* * *

-November 1991-

He was elated. No, no, he was more than elated. He was walking on fucking air, soaring higher than the sun and shining like a star. Gryffindor had won its first Quidditch match in seven years. And it was all thanks to Harry James Potter. Oliver could have kissed him, if he hadn't found that extremely inappropriate, as well as the fact that Oliver Wood identified as heterosexual. Although Harry had practically swallowed the Snitch, he had still technically caught it, even if it wasn't with the usual part of his anatomy.

A seventh year Gryffindor by the name of Michael Blenwick had subtly tapped Oliver on the shoulder, inviting him to a party to celebrate Gryffindor's long-awaited triumph. It was for fifth to seventh years only, in the secret room behind a large portrait on one of the landings near the moving staircases. Oliver had politely declined, muttering something about homework and his responsibilities as Captain. In truth, he knew that the one person he would want to be at that party would be the one person that would be anywhere but that party. And so he found himself walking up to _Baile._ As he mounted the winding stairs, an eerie, mournful tune that he had not heard for many, many years floated around in the air. Somebody was humming. A memory in the back of his mind was pulled slightly at the sound of the melody, but Oliver couldn't place it. He had been young, he knew that for sure, which was probably why the memory was so foggy. Somebody had told him something about bright eyes, and a distinctly floral aroma was prominent in this memory. But he could not see this memory, he could not recall it completely and until he could do that, he had next to nothing except 'bright eyes', the smell of flowers, and the feel of lazy, warm sunshine against his skin. But as hard as he tried, he could not remember anything else. As Oliver approached the top of the tower, the humming mysteriously faded away; the only sound was the whirl of the chilly wind as it blew through the tower.

Lily was standing at one of the high archways, her arms crossed over the railing. Her copious amounts of dark brown hair were loose, which was unusual since they were normally constrained into one long plait. She was wearing black leggings and an overlarge red jumper, but the peculiar thing was that she wasn't wearing anything on her feet. They were bare, exposed to the brutal chills of the flagstone floor of the tower and unprotected from any small rock or pin that might be lurking in the cracks, just waiting to sink a sharp point into the soft flesh of her foot.

Oliver stepped over towards her, coming to a stop just behind and slightly to the left of her. "Do you want to be left alone?" He asked cautiously, noticing that her eyes were fixed to a spot in the distance, and that she had not yet acknowledged him. She didn't say anything for several lengthy, cold, moments, and Oliver was almost wondering if she had heard him. Perhaps she was ignoring him... confused, he opened his mouth to repeat his question, and was cut off.

"Stay." Her voice was small, shy, like the first year girl he had met on the train all those years ago. The single word spoke volumes, even though it was only four letters in length. Oliver nodded, moving to lean on the railing beside his friend. He brushed against her and was surprised at how cold she felt.

"How long have you been out here?" Lily let out a low chuckle.

"I don't know. Minutes... hours, maybe... days... years..." Her chuckle repeated, and Oliver felt chilled: not because of the temperature, but because of the unnatural sound of her laugh. It was never like this; Lily was never like this.

"Lily, let's go back to the common-"

"I can't, Oliver." She replied. He noticed that her knuckles were white with the tension of holding onto the railing, and he moved one of his hands to rest on top of hers. She jerked away, quickly turning away as if she was repulsed by the feel of him. His brow furrowed slightly as he eyed her, feeling a dull sort of ache in his chest as she backed away from him.

"Lilyflower, what's wrong?" Oliver stepped closer, holding a hand out for her to take. She didn't do so much as look at it; she merely met his gaze and held it.

"Do you know what my father does to me?" Her words shook and wavered like a candle flame in a breeze, and Oliver almost stumbled over them. She couldn't be suggesting what he thought she was suggesting. She couldn't. Oliver wouldn't let that happen to his Lilyflower, surely this wasn't happening. She... there would have been... he would have noticed if... no, no, this was a nightmare. This wasn't real. This had to be some kind of twisted joke that somebody was playing on him. "He's had my family and I under the Imperius curse for twelve years." Lily spat the words out, tears forming in her beautiful hazel-green eyes. "It's why I can't write to you over the summer, it's why... why I don't know how to make friends, why I leave so abruptly after every school year. It's so he... so he can recast the spell and act like everything's alright!" She was crying as she staggered backwards towards a column, sliding down to sit on the ground. Oliver couldn't move. He was frozen with shock and all sorts of rage towards Lily's father. Of course, he had been expecting Lily to admit that her father physically and sexually abused her, but the Imperius curse was just as bad, if not worse. "I stay at school for holidays so that he can't get to me, because my mother knows it would be better if I was away from him." Hazel eyes looked sadly up into his brown ones. "When I'm at Hogwarts, I'm safe."

"Lily..." Oliver breathed. "You need to tell somebody." He murmured, moving to sit next to her. She scoffed and stood up again, and his eyes widened, completely taken aback.

"Who am I going to tell, Oliver?!" She cried. "Who am I going to run to when my father finds out I've told somebody?! Who in their right mind is going to believe some quiet, strange little teenager over Lord Walton?! He's a legend, Oliver! He's bloody famous!" This was the first time that he had ever heard Lily come close to swearing. "I'm probably just an attention-seeking brat, aren't I?! I'm overreacting! I'm lying! I should be locked up in a mental ward - which is exactly what my father would do if news got out that he wasn't so perfect after all!" Lily was hysterical now, and in one beautifully executed swoop, Oliver stood up and brought Lily to him in an embrace. She struggled against him at first before collapsing, defeated, into his arms. He hugged her tightly as she sobbed into his chest, clutching at him desperately. "I'm so scared, Oliver." She whispered. "I'm scared that I'll never be free from him."

* * *

He gathered the sleeping girl in his arms - Lily had drifted off to sleep after he had finally calmed her down - and her slight form was no challenge for a muscular man like Oliver to hold. It took him a moment to balance himself and stand up, but he accomplished the task, stealing silently into the dark corridors and being extraordinarily careful of any Prefects that might be lurking around looking to lecture him about rules - Percy - or deduct House points - any Slytherin. The Fat Lady let him in just before he was about to utter the password, and he mouthed 'thank you' to her before walking into the common room. There was nobody else in the room; it was just the two of them. Oliver was about to mount the stairs when he remembered that Lily had explained to him that they were charmed to prevent boys from going up them. He hissed a few choice words in Gaelic before opting to set his sleeping friend down on one of the lush chesterfields. As he set her down, she stirred slightly. Her eyes opened sleepily, the sight making Oliver smile. "'M'sorry," she mumbled in her half-asleep state, inspiring a broader grin from the Scotsman.

"You fell asleep, lass." He murmured, stroking her hair off her face. She - unconsciously? - leaned into his touch, which both surprised and cheered him. He pressed a gentle kiss to the slender, feminine hand that still clutched one of his, holding it there as he studied the expression on her face. "Are you too tired to move, or are you going up to your dormitory?" Oliver watched as she shrugged, her eyes now fully open and staring at him inquisitively. Lily let out a low hum of indecision.

"Can you sit here for a while, with me?" She asked shyly. The Keeper nodded.

"You better shove over then, Walton." He teased gently as she flashed him a small smile and sat up enough for him to make room for himself next to her. One of his Quidditch-toned wrapped around her, seemingly of its own accord, and she didn't even begin to protest. Instead, she curled up and snuggled against his chest, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his waist. He felt her smile against his side, and one of his own overcame him. He felt legitimately happy when he was with Lily, it was like she could take any of his problems, no matter how serious, and turn them into something beautiful. She was his best friend, and always would be. He would never forget her.

He would never forget that she was also a girl.

"Oliver?" Lily asked quietly.

"Hm?" She shifted against him, sitting up a little straighter so that her chin rested on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, misjudging how close she was. Their lips brushed together with a tingling electricity, and after a couple seconds, they parted before freezing in realization of what had just happened. Oliver could feel his heart speed up; his blood was poisoned with the most magnificent kind of adrenaline and his brain had been electrocuted. Brown eyes met hazel. He felt a sort of relief, a sort of happiness and giddiness that he had never experienced before. Lily was still tensed up against him, her eyes wide with an emotion that he could not recognize. He noticed the flecks of green in her eyes more than usual, and could not seem to break focus from them. He shook his head ever-so slightly to try to assuage his stare, and they both broke eye contact, blushing madly and separating so that there was at least an arm's-length of space between them on the couch.

"S-sorry, sorry," Lily stammered, standing up just as Oliver reached out his arm to wrap her in it again. She practically flew out of the common room, taking only a few moments to linger at the girls' dormitory stairs, looking back at Oliver with wide, sad eyes. "Sorry," she whispered before turning tail and fleeing silently up the stairs towards her dormitory room.

* * *

It was nearing one o'clock when Oliver finally went up to his dormitory in his daze, the look in Lily's eyes tattooed on the backs of his eyelids. When he finally collapsed into bed minutes later, his head was spinning once again. Spinning, reeling, his world was turning in circles before him. Falling around him. Falling, falling, falling. Spinning.

* * *

"Lily?"

Silence.

"Lily, please."

Silence.

"Lily, listen to me, lass."

Silence.

"C'mon, Lilyflower."

Silence.

"Are you alright?"

Silence.

"You weren'a in classes yesterday, or t'day. I had to pair with that freckled Ravenclaw boy, Darren, I think his name is, in Potions. Odd lad."

Silence.

"Lily, I..."

Silence.

"Please, say something."

Silence.

"Alright. I... I'm... I, I'm sorry, Lily. I didn'a mean anything, and you don' even know how sorry I am, Lilyflower. It was an accident, neither of us meant anything by it, aye?"

Silence.

"Just please, talk to me."

Silence.

"Lily, you're being ridiculous."

Silence.

"Lillian!"

Silence, save for the lazy growl of a fire-tongued monster that lay deep inside the stomach of the Scotsman. It reared its flaming head and bit down on his heart, teeth sinking into the pulsating organ and tearing straight through it. It snarled at him, teasing him with Lily's silence.

"Fine. I'm done. Come find me when you've stopped being so bloody proud."

The monster smiled smugly as it witnessed the damage it had done.

She whirled around from her spot near the Gryffindor common room window to look him straight in the eyes, a expression on her face that had him wanting to Avada himself right there. Her eyes were swimming with shock, horror, and undiluted sadness. Tears brimmed in the most sorrowful eyes that he had ever seen.

"No, Lily, I... I didn'a mean it. You know I didn'a mean it, I, I, I, I was just angry, Lily. I'd never... you know I... fuck, I'm so sorry, Lilyflower."

"And to think I used to love you, Oliver Wood." Her words hit him like a thousand diamond daggers: hard and sharp and sudden and causing far too much pain. Before he had a chance to reply, she was gone, leaving Oliver feeling quite alone in the not-so empty common room.

* * *

Lillian Walton was made of glass, and he had shattered her.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Well, here it is: the second chapter that  
I promised you all. You can see that it is  
nowhere near close to the distance of  
the prologue, which is okay, right?  
**

**this-ebony-bird DOT boards DOT net**** is  
where you need to be right now.  
**

**Ta,  
**

**-e.  
**


	3. Part III: Forget-me-not

Part III: Forget-me-not

* * *

_But the broken heart, it kens; no second spring again._

* * *

-September 1992-

* * *

"Ollie!" A small, squeaky voice rang outside his Quidditch Captain office door, accompanied by a series of erratic knocks. The Scotsman in question looked up curiously, rolling his eyes as he realized who exactly was behind the door.

"Come on in, Em," he called, waiting for his eleven year old half-sister to barge in and disturb the peace in his office. Emily-Mackenzie was starting her first year at Hogwarts, and had been Sorted into Gryffindor, just like her older brother. She, naturally, had been quite impressed. She was roommates with Ginny Weasley, the youngest Weasley child and the only girl, and the two had seemed to become fast friends.

"What're you doin'?" Emily asked, bouncing over to his desk and examining the book that was open on his desk.

"Transfiguration homework." Oliver replied. The first year scrunched up her nose.

"I don' like Transfiguration much. Professor McGonagall's nice, I s'pose, but I don' like the subject." She announced. Oliver nodded politely, happy that his sister was happy - even though Transfiguration was a bother - but not happy enough to listen intently. "When do I get to meet Lily?" Emily asked, shaking her wild man of rusted mahogany ringlets out of her eyes. The Quidditch Captain froze. Shit. Lily. He had mentioned Lily a few times to Emily when she, as an inquisitive child, asked who his best friend was. It was only fair that he introduce them, but what with he and Lily not being on speaking terms...

"Er, Lily's really busy, Em." Oliver sputtered out. Busy. Maybe. He didn't know. He had purposefully made his life as busy as possible so he had less chance of running into her, and assumed that she had done the same. But oh, how he wished that their schedules were the only things keeping them apart.

* * *

-October 1992-

* * *

It had been almost a year since the friendship between Oliver and Lily had come to its sudden bloody end. It was difficult to avoid her all the time, seeing as they were in the same house and most of the same classes, but Oliver did his best, and he was sure that Lily was too. Luckily, Oliver still had his Quidditch captain status and office, so he spent every second of his spare time locked away in there, hunched over the written plans of old manoeuvres and prodding at the miniature pitch and Gryffindor team. He had become mechanical, with Quidditch acting as the only thing that kept him going. He woke up and went for a run before breakfast, then he ate, went to his morning classes, ate lunch, went to his afternoon classes, ate supper, did his homework, practised new techniques and drills - or had a full practice with the team - and then went to bed. He couldn't admit that he was happy as a hippocampus under water, because he was far from it, but he had a system that worked for him. His emotions were suffering greatly, but he ignored them, because if he paid them any attention then they would just direct him back to Lily, who wanted nothing to do with him. Oliver had given up.

* * *

October thirteenth. Oliver's seventeenth birthday. A massive eagle owl flew in at breakfast to deliver a letter from Charlie, who was back in Romania working with his damned dragons, and Arviragus, Oliver's parents' tawny had arrived carrying a parcel, which turned out to be a box containing new Keeper's gloves, a navy blue Puddlemere jersey - emblazoned with 'WOOD' on the back of it - and a dyed emu feather quill. The parcel had, of course, been charmed to be light enough for Arviragus to carry it.

Although it was his birthday and he had finally come of age, Oliver couldn't help but feel anything but miserable. The one person who he wanted to share this day with wasn't speaking to him. Not that he had made an effort to speak to her either, so he was just as guilty as she was. The broken state of their friendship was stupid and idiotic and utterly pointless, but Oliver was too heartbroken to do anything about it. If Lily had wanted anything to do with him, she would have contacted him - he was sure of that.

* * *

"It's your birthday, Ollie. Lighten up, yeah?"

"Evan, be quiet. Can't you see he's busy?"

"Studying. Yeah, Perce. He needs to study for the Charms test next week, that he's going to pass with flying colours and banners and-"

"Very funny, Stillwater."

"Pity I can't say the same, Weasley."

"Hm."

"Anyway, Ollie, have some fun. And none of that broomstick stuff, because that's too much like a job for you now. Go out, find a few girls and a closet, and just let the cards fall where they may. Who knows, maybe some of them will be into Quidditch. I mean, I'm sure that there are plenty of girls just dying to see the famous Wood broomst-"

"That's disgust-"

"It's rude to interrupt, Perce. But come on, Wood, let's you and Matt and I palm a bottle of firewhiskey or what have you from the kitchens and put the moves on some lovely ladies. Please? It'll be fun, I swear on Merlin's saggy-"

"Oliver's making responsible choices, Evan. I suggest you let him be."

"Ollieeeeeeeeeeeeee, come on. Tell Perfect Prefect Percival over here to shove off and we can have some real fun! Wait, Ol-"

"He's leaving."

"Great, now look what you've done. You're repulsive, Weasley."

"ME?! I wasn't the one harping on about girls and closets and alcohol and sexual Quidditch innuendos!"

"I reckon it's time for me to go too."

"But you only half-finished your essay!"

"Oh will you be quiet?! Oi, Ollie, wait up!"

* * *

Oliver stumbled up to Baile with a weary head, body, and heart. He had finally evaded Evan's numerous attempts to give him a 'good' time on his birthday, and realized that there wasn't a place that made more sense to him right now than the Astronomy tower. It was deserted as usual, but he ached in that weird place around his sternum. He considered the fact that perhaps he had been subconsciously hoping that he might find Lily up there.

Ah, yes. Lily. She had invaded many of his recent thoughts and her soft presence seemed to have completely taken control of his brain. Her essence surrounded him. She was there, in everything he did, her gentle face imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. During the darkest hours of night, she was all he dreamed of. The spot inside of him that had been reserved for Lily was empty, and he was reminded of it every single day of his life, forced to try to fill the space with mere memories and fantasies of her. The Lily that lived inside his head was his saviour, she was there for him when he needed her the most: whenever the real Lily came into the picture. He adored her. He would be happy to have her in whatever capacity she would let him. Peers, friends, lovers, whatever made her happy. He loved to see her happy. She was the cure to all of his problems. Unfortunately, Lily was also the source of his problems. Or, more specifically, her lips were the source of his problems. One of these problems was that he had not spent nearly enough time with them pressed against his own. He had realized this during his almost-hour of sitting, dumbfounded, on a Gryffindor chesterfield after Lily had frantically scampered off. He remembered the feeling that he felt at the Yule Ball back at Beauxbatons in his third year, when they were fourteen and dancing with other people. He hadn't been discouraged because of the nice bloke that invited her; he had been discouraged because anybody else had invited her. To be fair, he had approached his date first, mainly because of pressure from Evan, and also because Kim was a great girl that he actually stood a chance with. It was easier than asking out his best friend.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he had been alone before he heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps. Somebody was ascending the tower staircase. A willowy figure with a lengthy mane of brown hair appeared at the top after a few more seconds, and came to an immediate halt. "Oliver," Lily breathed, pausing and slowly turning to go back downstairs.

"Stay with me." Oliver croaked, pleading with her. She froze and turned back to look at him. The pain etched upon her face was obvious, and she chewed her lip for a moment before finally obliging and gradually drawing nearer to him with every step. He agilely got to his feet, standing up and walking towards her as one might approach a stray horse. "Lily," the whisper of her name escaped his lips as he stood there, letting her gaze bore into his. Magic crackled between them, and Oliver couldn't help himself from suddenly moving to embrace her. "I missed you." He murmured, relishing in the feel of her slender, suntanned arms wrapping around his neck. He had his Lilyflower back. "I'm so sorry, I was stupid and a downright bugger, I shoulda never-" she silenced him by removing an arm from around his neck and placing her index finger on his lips.

"I missed you too, Oliver." His name sounded delicious on her tongue, and he would have loved to hold her and just listen to the purr of his name rolling around before finally being expelled, cast into the dark night. He felt his heart pound in his chest, the steady thu-thump, thu-thump acting as the bass line to the symphony that was playing in his veins. He had Lily back.

"Lily, lass, I... when we... I couldn'a... you know I-I-I..." Oliver had trouble forming words as he tried to explain what he had felt when they had first kissed. "We kissed." He stated simply; that was all he could come up with. Lily was looking directly at him. She was seeing through him, picking him apart without even realizing that she was.

"Did you, er, well, er..?" He had some idea what she was trying to say, and cleared his throat.

"Well, aye, I mean, if you..?" She nodded.

"I... I did." Her quiet admittance was all that was needed for Oliver to smile broadly again. Lily smiled back, and the sight made his grin widen so much that it almost hurt. "So, should we, er... try it again?" He jumped the gun in the nodding department, still beaming like mad. He dipped his head down to meet her and slid his arms more snugly around her waist. After searching her eyes for any doubt of wanting to do this - of which he found none, much to his pleasure and satisfaction - he leaned in closer and tilted his head, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed. He closed his own eyes, blacking out the world before pressing his lips softly, tenderly, to hers. Their noses bumped slightly, but it barely registered in Oliver's brain; all he could think about was that he was kissing the girl that he had been wishing to kiss for longer than even he knew. He clung to Lily with strong, stable arms while his knees tremored like a first year before the Sorting. Oliver was the happiest that he had been in a long time. This kiss wasn't groundbreaking; it wasn't accompanied by deafening swells of orchestras and there was no one around to wolf-whistle or applaud their final unity. There was a lack of narrator's voice in Oliver's head - presumably Lily's as well - that spoke of undying love and finally finding closure and peace in their lives. There was no whispers of 'I love you's and 'I have always loved you's and all of those claims that inspired butterflies in stomachs and had lovers feel their heart beating out of their chests. It wasn't a kiss of extraordinary passion or lust, it wasn't like they had been pining after each other for years on end or that this kiss showed them exactly what they had been missing out on all these years. It was a kiss that acted as a token of their affection for each other, a kiss that was left open-ended, without any promises or expectations. It said merely 'I care about you'. That was all that Oliver needed: to know that Lily cared about him in the same way he cared about her. It didn't matter if she wanted to be with him right now or not; it made him happy because it gave him a reason to stop lying to himself. He didn't have to hide anything from himself; he could admit that he wanted Lily, not just as a friend, but however she let him have her.

Oliver shivered, with excitement or with cold, he wasn't sure. As he and Lily broke apart, he continued to hold her in his arms. "Lilyflower," he murmured, bringing up a hand to cradle her cheek. She smiled and relaxed into his gentle touch, the look in her eyes making him feel like nothing could ever possibly go wrong. She frowned for a moment, looking like she was considering something.

"Oliver, I..." She bit down on her lip, a sign that showed she was concentrating intently on something, trying to figure it out. "You and I, we... what are we?" Lily asked innocently, her arms still around his neck. He shrugged in response, his eyebrows knitting together with thought and the trademark worry line in between them appearing as he pondered their relationship.

"Whatever you want us to be, lass." He grinned cheekily, the frown disappearing. "Just so long as I get another one of those kisses."

* * *

"Finally! It's about time!"

"Bugger off, Ev."

* * *

-December 1992-

* * *

"Oliver, it's just the library. I can get there on my own, you don't have to worry. I just need to return a couple books, that's all."

"Lilyflower..."

"Oliver..."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself, not when there's students being attacked for no bloody reason. You could get hurt... again!"

"I'll be fine,"

"I don' want a Petrified girlfriend, Lily!"

"Well I'm going whether you like it or not."

"Well then, I'm going with you... whether you like it or not."

* * *

-June 1993-

* * *

The school year was almost over, Harry Potter had continued his odd little trend and saved the school yet again from an apocalypse, and Oliver had finished all of his exams. It was far too early in the morning to be awake, yet he and Lily were curled up on the loveseat in the common room, both resting comfortably in the state between sleep and alertness. They had been together since his birthday, and their relationship was, in Oliver's eyes, pretty much perfect. Lily simply made him happy. He was happier when he was around her, and everything was so much clearer when she was there to repel the fog that often drifted around the school in a pessimistic cloud. Part of him pitied everybody that didn't have a Lily of their own; the other part of him absolutely loved the fact that Lily was his.

"Oi, lovebirds!" Evan's presence assaulted Oliver out of his sweet trance, and the Scot jumped at the sudden sound. Lily glared at Evan before turning back sleepily into Oliver's chest, the fabric of his t-shirt balled up in one hand. Evan ran a hand through his near-black hair, grinning like a madman. Oliver knew that he knew that he was being bothersome, and flashed him a hand gesture that Lily would have reprimanded him for.

"Go away, Stillwater." Oliver groaned, stroking Lily's arm absentmindedly. The sixth year Prefect chuckled and approached the couple - a daring move.

"That hurts, Ollie. Sometimes I think you don't even like me..." Evan sniffed, being far more ridiculous than necessary. Oliver delivered a pointed glare in his direction, and, finally getting the message - or perhaps just not having enough fun taunting Oliver and Lily - Evan left the common room with an unnecessarily sassy flip of his ebony ringlets. Lily let out a soft giggle into Oliver's shirt, which made him smile as he kissed the top of her head. For now, at least, life was good.

* * *

"But you're of age, Lilyflower!" Oliver wheedled, drumming his fingers on her thigh. The young woman across from him rolled her large hazel eyes and hugged her knees to her chest.

"I know, but I have to go back. My father will be coming to pick me up at the station, and he'll go completely mad if I'm not there. And what do I do about my mother, Oliver? I can't just leave her there, she needs me." The look in his girlfriend's eyes was one of utter distress, and it practically broke Oliver's heart to see.

"I'll help you," he swore, reaching across the train compartment to take one of her slender hands in both of his. He loved the feel of her hands. They were so slim, so soft, and so utterly feminine compared to his awkward, calloused ones. Lily shook her head, drawing her eyes away from his to watch the world fly by them in a thousand blurs of greens and blues and browns.

"It's no use, Oliver." She murmured, still letting the world pass by in the reflection of her eyes. "He's Azkaban and I'm a prisoner," she replied in her typical allegorical writer's dialect. She sighed, sitting back in her seat and closing her eyes. Oliver stood up, frowning, and sat beside her, pulling her into his arms.

"Why won' you let me help you?" He whispered into her hair. Lily wrapped her own arms around him, and Oliver felt hot tears dampen his shirt. He combed her hair absentmindedly through his fingers, letting her cry out all the tears that she had welled up inside. Lily cried silently, save for some shaky breaths that accompanied shoulders heaving with sobs. Oliver hated Lord Walton for doing this to Lily. There was absolutely no excuse to Imperius an entire family, or anybody. There was a reason that the Imperius curse was Unforgivable. There was a reason that it was against the law. Lily said something, but it was so quiet that Oliver couldn't tell what exactly it was that she had said. "Pardon, lass?"

"I wish I knew how to let you help me." She breathed softly, tilting her head up to look at him. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she closed them again, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. He pulled her into his lap and simply held her close, stroking her hair and her back and just letting her nestle into him. Oliver didn't know his way around women in general, but he acted on instinct and hoped that something that he did was right. Lily made him want to be right, to be good and to save her from all the bad things in the world. He was going to be a Gryffindor for her. He had always been a Gryffindor for her.

* * *

He drew her to him for a tender kiss and another hug before she pulled away and was swept up into the waves of the bustling crowd. Oliver followed the long brown plait with his eyes until Lily was taken by the arm by her father, disappearing with a harsh pop of sound. She was gone.

* * *

-July 1993-

* * *

"Need help with anything, ma?"

"Aye, call Emmy in to help set the table."

"Ma, could I ask you something?"

"Aye, lad."

"Er, I have this friend, see, and he's in a bit of a sticky spot. He has this girlfriend who's being abused at home, and he's trying to help her out, but he i'nt getting anywhere. The da's a real tosser, and he's got the entire family under... er, they literally cannae do anything to defy him. He controls them, ma, and my friend is getting pure worried about her."

"What's her name, luv?"

"No, er, ma, it's a friend's girlfriend."

"We both know it i'nt. So quit your havering and tell me her name, Oliver James Wood ."

"Lily Walton."

"One of Jack Walton's lasses?"

"Aye. She's my age."

"Ah, right. She's the... third one of them, i'nt she?"

"I don' know. She doesn'a talk about home much."

"Well, what do yeh know?"

What did he know? He knew that there were three lines in the outside corner of her left eye - four in her right - that appeared when she was laughing. He knew that she knew the names of any wildflower in Scotland or England and could recall any of them without so much as a minute of consideration. He knew that she was left handed, like him. He knew that she was born under the Scorpio zodiac sign, but didn't share many of the stereotypical characteristics that Scorpios were supposed to have, and instead - so she told him - had found herself to be more of an Aquarius. He knew that she loved leggings and overlarge jumpers and having her wavy hair free from restraints, but changed into a grey dress, black flats, black woollen cardigan, and neat plait whenever she was going to see her father or be at home. He knew that she fiddled with her hair when she was nervous. He knew that she didn't speak unless she had something important to say. He knew that she could have been in Ravenclaw. He knew that she had no idea why she was in Gryffindor. He knew that her favourite animal was tied between a horse and a cat. He knew that she always took little bits of food at a time at mealtimes, never overloading her plate like Oliver often did - though somehow, he still managed to eat all of it. He knew that she excelled at Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology, but struggled with Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He knew that she wouldn't play Quidditch, but would spend an entire day at the pitch while he practised. He knew that she loved herbal tea more than any other beverage in the world, but wouldn't ever say no to hot chocolate. He knew that she hated the smells of Firewhiskey and gun smoke. He knew that her favourite jumper to wear was actually one of his. He knew that she kissed like a goddess. He knew that she tied her hair up when she was thinking especially hard. He knew that she was a writer. He knew that she loved the colour green because she associated it with plants. He knew that she loved to be hugged. He knew that she was completely happy when she could curl up to sleep with him. He knew that she made her own perfume of a sort, with crushed flowers, a couple charms, and other ingredients that he could never remember the name of. He knew that she was afraid of graduating. He knew that she wrote the most adorable stories. He knew that she was scared of her father. He knew that as a child, she had idolized her mother. He knew that she asked the most intriguing questions in class. He knew that she wanted to have children some day. He knew that she blinked several times in a row when she was confused. He knew that she hated shoes. He knew that she loved when he called her 'Lilyflower', though she had been raised in a house that abhorred nicknames. He knew that her middle name was also a flower name: Iris. He knew that she thought her full first name was too fancy. He knew that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He knew that he loved her.

"Nothing about her home really, ma, except that her da's a right bastard."

"Language, Ollie. Just because your da swears like a sailor doesn' mean I want your tongue filthy as well, aye? Good. Well, I went to school with the girls' mum, Libra... nice lass, a bit daft but darn sweet. When I heard she'd married Jack Walton I was pure surprised. He'd always been a bit of a tyrant, an' Libby was such a doll. I s'pose I shouldn'a be too shocked to hear Jack's gone an' done something horrible to his family."

"So what do I do?"

"I dun' know. Let me speak with yer da and see if we cannae dig up an address, aye?"

"Aye. Thanks, ma,"

* * *

"Ollie, who's owl is that?"

"I dunno, Em. Why don'ya see what it's got?"

"Alright."

"What's it say, bairn?"

"It's addressed to you, Ollie,"

"Let's see that, then."

* * *

_Come to _Blodau Ard-Mhéara_ on July 23 at noon._  
_Your mother knows where it is. Come alone._  
_- Lily_

* * *

"Ma, where's _Blodau Ard-Mhéara_?" Oliver asked between bites of roast chicken. His stepmother flashed a nervous glance at her husband, who furrowed his bushy red-brown eyebrows and gave his scruffy chin a scratch.

"How do you know abou' _Blodau_, Ol?" The older wizard replied. Oliver set his fork and knife down on the table, crossing his arms and frowning at his father.

"Lily told me to go there tomorrow." Mary Wood smoothed her dark blonde hair back and clasped her hands in front of her. Oliver felt her eyes linger upon him, and turned to look at her, blatant confusion all over his face like etchings in the bark of a tree. She nodded, as if she had expected his answer, as well as his question. Oliver's father started to speak, but she cut him off with an erected index finger.

"_Blodau_ is the Walton estate. Big auld manor on one o' Lomond's islands-"

"Fraoch Eilean," Oliver's father supplied gruffly.

"Aye, Fraoch Eilean. It isn' far from here, maybe just shy o' seven minutes by a decent broomstick." Oliver's parents shared a nod of agreement. "It's na' really a place we want you bein', Ollie." Mary pursed her rosy lips, blue eyes repeatedly shifting over to her husband, who was frowning into the fireplace, the flames catching his deep blue eyes and making him appear almost angry. Oliver was prodded with a twinge of worry. He prayed that his parents wouldn't try to keep him from going to meet Lily. _Blodau Ard-Mhéara_ couldn't really be as bad as they said, couldn't it? It was just a house. It wasn't like he was going to Azkaban or anything, he was simply going to visit Lily, and maybe speak to her father. Nothing bad would happen to him, and if it did, well, then he would just show everybody that he was more than capable of defending himself and his girlfriend. Lily was capable enough as it was by herself. They would be fine.

"So how do I get there?" Oliver asked, attempting to subtly tell his parents that it didn't matter what they thought of _Blodau_, because he was going no matter what. His father cleared his throat.

"I don' know if I wan'ya goin' there by yerself, Ol."

"But I'm of age, da." The younger man protested, rolling his eyes at his father. "Besides, Lily told me to come alone. If I don'..." He looked at his stepmother for assistance, knowing that she knew as much of Lily's situation as he did, having finally admitted to her the whole story yesterday morning. She met his eyes and sighed before closing her own and pinching the bridge of her nose in thought.

"Let the lad go, James." She said finally in her 'this-is-the-end-of-the-discussion' tone. Oliver's father glared at his wife and son.

"I expect you to tell me exactly what's goin' on 'fore you go, Oliver." His voice was stern, and the younger wizard nodded quickly, casting a glance at Emily, who was pointedly not paying attention to the conversation like a good little sister who shouldn't be privy to all of her older brother's business.

"I'll go," she said quickly, bounding away from the table.

"Plate!" James called after his daughter, who returned to the room, picked up her finished supper plate, plunked it carefully in the sink, and skipped off again. Oliver rolled his eyes again before looking back at his father.

"Y'know how I been telling you all about this girl, Lily?" James nodded. "Well, she and I are... together, I guess, but there's a problem that we cannae seem to get around." Oliver let his father watch him, the deep blue eyes flicking back and forth from Oliver's brown ones to Mary's blue-green. "And, er... it's... well," he looked at his stepmother again, unsure of how to phrase the issue.

"Lily is Jack Walton's daughter." The blonde witch supplied, smoothing imaginary loose strands of hair away from her face. James Wood's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened.

"That explains a lot." He murmured, eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitting together in a definitive frown. Oliver mirrored his father's frown.

"How so?" He asked, intrigued. James sighed.

"Jack's folks an' mine were good friends. We pretty much grew up together, you could say." He rubbed the beard that was growing on his chin. "Jack was always a bit of a bastard, a pure control freak when it came to hangin' out with the lads but sweet as sugar around an adults. He was a manipulative sonofabitch." James added, glaring into the fireplace once again. When he married Libra I couldn' say I didn'a know the reason why." He shrugged thoughtfully. "Libra was a nice lass, I s'pose; everybody was right up in arms about their marriage. They didn' date for very long either, less than a month, I think. Nex' thing y'know, Libby's pregnant." Mary sighed, giving a nod of remembrance of the story her husband had recalled. "There's three girls, right Mar?" He asked. Again, his wife nodded.

"I don' remember all of their names, but if Lily's your age, Ollie, then she's sure to be the youngest. They were home schooled, if I 'member correctly." Mary murmured. Oliver pondered this for a moment. If Lily had older sisters, then why didn't they attend Hogwarts? Was Lord Walton repressing their magic? What in Merlin's name was he doing to them? And why did he choose to send Lily to Hogwarts and not her sisters? What was so different about her? What was going on? What exactly had been going on for years?

"Wow," Oliver breathed, unable to wrap his head around what was going on. What kind of man was Lord Jack Walton, exactly? He looked up just in time for his father to ask him what his business at Blodau was. "I dunno, da. I got a letter from Lily telling me to meet her there at noon tomorrow, and I'm going whether you like it or na'." He crossed his arms over the table. "I just need to know how to get there."

* * *

With his Cleansweep Seven in hand, Oliver set out into the foggy morning. It wasn't misty enough that he couldn't see where he was going, but just enough to give the world a sort of eerie feel. It was like there was something looming above his head, written into his fate. And he had no idea what was coming. He had no idea what was going to happen to him. He sighed as he traipsed across the McCarthy property, his mind chanting Lily's name over and over again. Her name was like a song to him. The thought of his Lilyflower made him feel safe. It was like no matter what was prophesied about him or what the Fates threw his way, he would be okay as long as he had his Lilyflower.

Oliver mounted his broom and kicked off, flying high above the small forest on the edge of the McCarthy land. His Cleansweep was fast enough for him, giving him enough time to pleasantly survey the ground below him. It took less than a minute to fly over the forest, and soon he was over the meadow. He felt the enchantments of the property release him, and decided to touch back to the ground so he could Disillusion himself. He halted neatly, ducking down behind a particularly tall patch of some kind of grass or brush, and pulled out his wand. He muttered the charm before standing upright, Disillusioned. He frowned as he looked around the meadow. He was sure that he had seen it someplace before, sometime long ago or far away, maybe in a dream. Maybe he had seen a picture of it somewhere. Oliver let out a sigh of confusion as his chocolate-brown eyes took in the sights of the flowers. One in particular, an incredibly light indigo one that was almost white, caught his eye. He bent down to pluck it from the earth. "Eyebright." He murmured curiously, examining the blossom held between two calloused fingers. He blinked, surprised that he knew the name of the flower. He had simply plucked the name from deep within the caverns of his mind as he had the flower, without a context or even reasoning. He tucked the eyebright into his pocket and curiously moved around the meadow, feeling the tall flora brush against him as he invaded its territory. There was something about this place that he could not put his finger on, as hard as he tried.

Giving up - for now, at least - Oliver flew off on his broomstick, keeping in mind the directions that his stepmother had given him. He kept going until he spied the small dock by the loch with the air of magic crackling around it. He was almost shocked by just how much magic there was in the air there, and hovered above the dock for a moment. He squinted through the fog, seeing the shape of an island in the distance. He suspected that it was about four hundred metres away, and took to the sky once again. Blodau was an interesting property, with a high stone wall built around it, and a large, wrought-iron gate at the front. The house itself was hidden through the trees, but Oliver swore that it was the oldest-looking house he had ever seen. He touched down outside the gate, and stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. The gate was broken-down, covered with overgrown brush, and the yard inside the wall looked like it hadn't seen a good gardening job in centuries. The house was tall and looming, a distinct sense of foreboding hanging over Oliver like a thundercloud. It looked like anything bad could happen in this house. He removed the Disillusionment charm from himself, and took a deep breath, unable to do anything but wait.

"Oliver?" A familiar voice had him snapped to attention. Lily slipped out from behind a bush, donning her grey dress and black flats with her hair pulled back into a braid. She was wearing a shy smile, and her eyes were wide with uncertainty. She had a black leather rucksack slung over one shoulder that was worn in many places, and there was a cut on her cheek that Oliver couldn't help but notice. But the cut on her cheek didn't matter now; what mattered now was that he was finally reunited with his Lilyflower. He didn't care that it had been less than a month since he had last seen her, it had been far too long. He stepped forward, as did she, and she flung herself into his arms.  
"Merlin, Lilyflower..." He breathed, closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet smell of his girlfriend. She let out a breathy laugh into the crook of his neck, drawing back before planting a sweet, chaste kiss on his grinning mouth.  
"You're here," she whispered. "You're finally here."

* * *

"Oliver, I think... I think someday soon I'd be ready to live with you."

* * *

It took an entire hour and a lot of determined, passionate persuasion - some of this in the form of kisses - but finally Oliver flew off the island with Lily's arms wrapped around his middle. He had convinced her to come back with him while they looked for another place to live, and so now his girlfriend sat behind him on the broom, her head buried in the hood of his sweater and eyes squeezed shut. She didn't open them until he had touched back down outside McCarthy House, and he murmured to her that everything was alright. He took her by the hand and dragged her up the porch stairs and into his house, picking her up and whirling her around in the foyer as she laughed along with him.

"Welcome to McCarthy House, Lily," he whispered in her ear as she looked around in awe of the incredibly large farmhouse.

"It's so... different." She said at last. Oliver frowned, unsure as to what exactly she meant. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she moved around the foyer, examining everything. "It's incredibly modern, but a classy sort of modern." Lily mused, her hazel-green eyes wide. Oliver kissed her cheek quickly.

"Aye, it's alright." He shrugged before pulling her into the parlour, where his father was busy writing letters. "Da, I want you to meet Lily Walton." James Wood stood up from his desk, walking over to the couple. Oliver always felt short next to his six-foot one-inch father - being only five-foot eight and a half-inches - but five-foot two-inches Lily was absolutely miniscule next to the older Scotsman.

"James Wood." Oliver's father introduced himself with a charming smile, shaking her hand firmly. "It's good ta' finally meet you, Lily Walton." She nodded eagerly.

"You too, Mister Wood." Lily offered a smile of her own. James shook his head.

"Mister Wood is my da. Call me James," Lily smiled again and repeated her nod of understanding. Oliver cleared his throat.

"Is it alright if Lily bides with us for a while, da?" He asked innocently. James raised one greying eyebrow.

"How long?"

"Until we find another place to live," Oliver admitted, wanting more than anything to look down at his feet but managing to keep his gaze locked with his father's. James' face wasn't as angry as Oliver had expected it to be. He looked shocked, mostly, with a touch of fatherly concern and a familiar 'what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing-lad' was clear in his eyes. Lily squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I been lookin' around for a while now, ma's been helping a bit, and there's a flat in Lochley Alley that we both think would do nicely."

"I see. And Mary knows about all o' this?" James asked in his brogue, absentmindedly scratching at his chin. Oliver nodded. "Well then tha's alrigh', innit?" That wasn't the response that Oliver had anticipated, and the younger man was pleasantly surprised. The older sighed. "I'm not goin'a pretend that I'm keen on this, Ol, but I trus' you and I trus' yer mum, so if she says it's a go, then it's a go." Oliver straightened up as his father clapped a hand to his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "Yer a good lad, Oliver."

* * *

"It's not much, but it's home."

"You're joking; Oliver, this is fantastic!"

"Says the lass that lives in a bloody auld mansion! You're one to talk, Lilyflower,"

"I don't have much back at _Blodau_. Everything I own can be packed up in a trunk and taken to school with me every year."

"Bloody... that's bloody weird, lass."

"I didn't think it was, really. I mean, things had always been like that, so I didn't know that people lived any other way."

"Lily, what exactly happened at _Blodau_? Why didya change your mind to come here?"

"Oliver, I... I can't talk about this right now, if that's alright with you."

"Sorry, Lily, I didn' mean to... yeah, yeah that's alright."

"You'll get answers one day soon, I promise."

* * *

"I've set up the guest room for you, Lily dear," Mary Wood announced with a comforting smile. Lily's cheeks took on an adorable blush and she let a shy smile escape. Oliver grinned as she looked at him, smiling.

"Thank you - all of you - for what you've done." She met the eyes of the four Scots at the table, her prim accent quite out of place in the jaunty brogues of the others. Oliver kissed his girlfriend's rosy cheek in his own form of reply.

"It's no problem, lass." James raised an eyebrow at his son. "Any friend of Oliver's is a friend of ours. As long as yer here, you'll be looked after." The phrases were cliche, but it didn't matter to Oliver because he knew that what his father said was true. Lily would be safe here, she would be loved here, he would show her his world of kindness that she had been exempt from for her entire life. He would show her that there were other ways to live than that she had been living for almost eighteen years. He would show her everything he had to be thankful for.

* * *

He led her up the wooden stairs to the guest room where she would be staying, practically giddy at having the familiar feel of her hand in his, fingers entwined. He looked back, grinning at the sight of Lily's eyes widening, as if they were trying to take in everything all at once and store it in her memory bank. He saw pure wonder in her eyes, a look that he hadn't seen often that he treasured, simply because it was so perfect and beautiful that he couldn't imagine wanting anything more than to watch the expressions change in her eyes, like the sun rising and setting through the day. She stumbled a little bit on the top step in her disconnected state, and the look in her eyes sparked with the adrenaline warning that she better catch herself. Both she and Oliver did, before their gazes connected with a tender, caring expression. He kissed her forehead lightly.

"Y'alright, lass?" He asked gently as she hugged him around his torso. She looked up at him, the traces of a smile on her face.

"I am, I suppose. It's a bit weird, being here, and I can't help feel like I'm being a bit of a burden, but-"

"You're not a burden, Lilyflower," Oliver cut her off quickly. "My parents like you, Emily likes you, and I pure dead like you! I brought you here; you're my guest, and you're just gonna haud yer wheesht and let me spoil you mad!" Lily giggled.

"'_Haud yer wheesht_'?" She asked, cocking her head to the side like a puppy who has just heard a familiar sound. The Scot grinned sheepishly.

"Scottish term. Means 'be quiet'. Da uses it all the time on me, and ma uses it on da," he shrugged, moving to continue leading Lily down the hall to the guest room. It was across from his room, which he quickly closed the door to, realizing he was suddenly embarrassed by the state of it. It wasn't that it was messy - his stepmother had made sure it was clean before he went to visit Lily, knowing that he had intentions of bringing her back with him - but more so that there were Quidditch posters and memorabilia everywhere. It wasn't tasteful for an adult to have posters in his room; that was childish, and Oliver was not a child. Being immature enough to have Puddlemere United posters plastered everywhere was not something he'd like Lily to keep in her head. She was probably too mature for that kind of thing; she'd think him silly and frivolous, and maybe even break up with him if she thought he was too much of a kid. He stopped himself. No, this was Lily he was talking about; the kindest, sweetest, most accepting person that he had ever met. She wouldn't care if his room was too immature; she probably wouldn't even think it to be immature. Oliver cleared his throat, pointing to the guest room with his free hand. "Well, this is where you'll be kippin'." He twisted the knob and opened the door, guiding Lily into the room.

"It's lovely," she remarked, her tone authentic, genuinely meaning what she was saying. Oliver rubbed the back of his neck.

"Aye, it's... it's alright." He shrugged modestly, letting go of Lily's hand as she went to survey the large room. The guest room was nothing new to him, but it seemed to Lily that it was an entirely new world. The room itself was only about one-hundred-and-fifty square feet - which sounded like a lot but really wasn't - with a rather high ceiling. The walls were painted a warm, pale green, and the bedroom set was all mere shades golder than Oliver's hair. A dark green paisley - an elegant paisley, Mary had insisted - bedspread adorned the bed, which was queen-sized and one of the comfiest beds that Oliver had ever been on. Lily's black rucksack lay on the chest at the foot of the bed, and its owner let go of Oliver's hand to open it, pulling out a small trunk that was no bigger than a loaf of bread. She pulled out her wand from the bag, and tapped the trunk. It grew to its normal size, where Oliver recognized it as her school trunk. He frowned at her questioningly. She looked up at him and flashed a small, sheepish smile. "You planned on coming back with me after all, didn'ya?" He accused, pointing a finger and stepping over to her, encircling her in his arms.  
"Maybe," Lily shrugged. "Or maybe I've just had this packed for ages, waiting for some handsome, Scottish knight to rescue me from my tower." She batted long, dark eyelashes up at him, and received a kiss on the nose in return. Oliver smiled, squeezing her tightly against him and earning a squeal from the young woman. She wriggled out of his arms and leaped away from him, letting out a laugh. The Scot noticed a playful twinkle in her eyes, and athletically dove after her, catching her around the middle and knocking both of them onto the bed. He was careful not to put too much weight on her and squash her to death, but enough weight to pin her down so she couldn't get up. She was still laughing, an adorable tinkling noise, and her nose was crinkling in the cutest fashion. Oliver felt himself let out his breathy laugh as he wrapped his arms around Lily's horizontal form, subtly tickling her sides which elicited another fit of incredibly cute giggles from the young woman underneath him. When she had come down from her laughing high they both sighed, and Oliver relaxed his grip on his girlfriend. He moved one rough hand to stroke her cheek before leaning his head down to kiss her gently on the lips. Her arms took no time in winding around his neck, not letting him break the lip-lock.

He had thought it before and he'd think it again: Lily kissed like a goddess. Her lips were warm and smooth, and sweet, like... Oliver didn't even know what they were sweet like. They weren't sweet like sugar or honey or anything like that; they were sweet like weekends, birthday presents, socks without holes, and letters from Hogwarts. They tasted lovely, for sure, a taste that wasn't strawberry or cocoa or anything artificial; it was the taste of Lily's skin and nothing else. When Oliver and Lily had first started dating they were both a bit clumsy at kissing, having not had much experience in the act though they had kissed other people before - Oliver had kissed Kim Vickery at the Yule Ball, Julie Scott back in fourth year on a bet with Matt, and Alicia Spinnet last September, although to be fair she had kissed him; and Lily had been kissed by Alexandre at the Yule Ball, and a Ravenclaw named Leander Frey, who she had apparently dated for one week back when she and Oliver weren't speaking - but had quickly shaped up with practice. The first time Oliver had tried to stick his tongue in Lily's mouth - it was as unceremonious and un-classy as it sounded - she had been somewhat disapproving, until she explained that she believed in something called 'polite tongue', which was enough to heighten the passion level but not enough that it would be gross to watch at a wedding or the two participants would end up with their combined saliva - she had shuddered here - all over their faces. She had proclaimed that 'looking like you're eating the person you're dating is not appealing, Oliver, in some places they just call that cannibalism' and Oliver had decided it was better if he just kept his tongue in his mouth for the rest of his life, having been thoroughly embarrassed at being called out for his choice of kissing style. Eventually, they had figured out a way to please both parties.

They slowly broke apart - Lily let go of Oliver's hair, which she had tangled her fingers in - and Oliver, with a smile, rolled off of his girlfriend and onto the bed beside her. He rested his head on one of the pillows, letting her curl up next to him and still holding her body close. He absentmindedly stroked his fingers up and down her side as he watched her watch him. Her face was calm, her lips slightly crooked in the trace of a smile. "You're goin'a be just fine here, Lilyflower," he told her honestly. She nodded slightly, meeting the determination in his eyes.

"I am, aren't I," she replied, resting her head on his chest. He let out a soft sigh, resting his chin on the top of her head and closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of Lily breathing in and out. "I'm going to be just fine."

* * *

"I like Lily," Emily stated matter-of-factually, the look in her eyes giving away that she was taking great care to be quiet enough that the woman she mentioned could not hear her. Lily had offered to help Mary do some late-evening organizing in the parlour, presumably as some form of payment for allowing her to stay at McCarthy House. Oliver looked across hall into the next room where Mary was showing Lily pictures, and realized with a sort of dreading sensation that those pictures were probably of him doing stupid, kid things. His girlfriend caught his eye, winked, and went back to conversing with his stepmother.

"I like her too, Em." He murmured, taking a sip of water from his glass.

"Do you love her?" The young girl asked curiously. Oliver sighed, casting another glance at Lily. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment.

"Em, there's a difference between loving someone and being in love with them, alrigh'? I love Lily, you can put money on tha', but it's hard to know what being in love is like, aye?" His half-sister nodded gravely as if she understood exactly what he was talking about. "But if being in love is what I think it is, then I'm in love with her too." He concluded, feeling lighter with the realization of what he had just said. He was in love with Lily. He had loved Lily for many, many years, but only now was he in love with her. He loved her. He wanted her for his own, where he could keep her away from all the bad things that could happen to her.

"You're pathetic," The little Gryffindor wrinkled her nose and scoffed, tossing her mane of red-brown curls and flouncing off in the direction of upstairs. Oliver grinned. Of course he was pathetic. He was in love.

* * *

"Lily?" He knocked on the door to the guest room.

"Come in," was her called reply. Oliver slowly opened the mahogany-stained wooden door, and froze immediately. He had never been this close to a half-naked girl, never mind one that he wouldn't mind seeing completely naked. Lily was wearing the shortest shorts Oliver had ever seen in his entire life, and the dark grey fabric was pretty much flush against her body. He couldn't help but notice that she had a lovely backside, but blushed as he realized how much of her there was to notice. There were her legs, for one thing; they were long, tanned, and smooth, making Oliver's fingers practically itch with the urge to touch them. Her pale pink shirt clung greedily to her curves, and fell just shy of the hem of her sleep-shorts, revealing a strip of skin that Oliver couldn't help but think was the sexiest strip of skin he had ever seen. The shirt was sleeveless, with only two thin straps keeping it from falling down. Lily was pulling her hair away from her face, stretching an elastic around it and letting her ponytail fall back down. She turned towards him, smiling, and he blinked numerous times, feeling like if he kept his eyes open for too long then they would fall out. He slipped against the door frame but righted himself quickly, letting out a short, humiliated laugh. The reason for Oliver's unsteadiness? Lily's shirt was low-cut, and his eyes were drawn to her... er... tits? No, that sounded too vulgar, although it was the word that Oliver usually used in his head when referring to that part of a woman. He had to choose something else... breasts? No, that sounded too scientific, too formal, and like something his stepmother would say. Her... her what? He didn't know, so he cleared his throat nervously and tried to remember to look at Lily's face.

"Do... do you always wear that to bed?" He squeaked, suddenly unsure where to place his hands. After deciding to cross his arms over his chest, he dared look back up at Lily, who let out a slight laugh.

"No, usually I wear a nightgown," Oliver took a few seconds to force himself not to think of Lily in some incredibly short, lacy negligee nightgown. "It was long-" Oliver internally breathed a sigh of relief "- and I hated it, but father insisted, and, well, I couldn't really do much about it," she added the last part sadly, alluding to how her father kept her and her mother in line with the Imperius curse. He nodded fervently, his eyes glued to her face. "Are you alright, Oliver?" She inquired. Oliver shrugged.

"Of course," he smiled shakily. "Why wouldn' I be?" Lily shrugged.

"You just look a little flushed, that's all." She tucked a rebellious lock of long, wavy, chocolate-brown hair behind her ear, maintaining eye contact with Oliver the entire time. "Well, I think I might go to bed now, if that's alright with you, of course." He nodded, sucking in his breath as Lily walked forward the few feet in distance to embrace him. He leaned down to hug her, accidentally sliding his hands across bare skin. The Scot breathed in the clean, fresh smell of his girlfriend as her hair tickled his nose, and closed his eyes, savouring the feel of her smooth skin under his calloused hands. Lily drew her head back before initiating a heated kiss; one that kindled a flame inside Oliver that caught fire almost immediately and spread all over him, his veins acting as lines of gunpowder that, when the fire reached the ends, set fireworks off all around inside of him. They had never done this sort of fire thing before, but Oliver agreed that now was a good time to start. Her fingers knotted themselves in his hair - he had thought about getting it cut, but not if she was going to do this to him - and his explored her back, tracing the cutting edge of her shoulder blades, the dent in the rear of her waist, and the soft curve of her spine. Without breaking from her lips he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with one foot, turning them around so that she was sandwiched in between him and the door. He pressed his body to hers, moving one hand to cup her neck and the other to grasp her hip tightly, amazed that it fit perfectly in his hand. Lily's kisses encouraged the fire inside of him, and he inched the hand that was on her hip downward to canvas her exposed thigh. He gently coaxed it upwards to hook over his hip, running his hand up and down and up and down until he rested his hand under her knee, keeping her leg up. Oliver felt a tug in a rather excitable place of his, and broke apart from her, setting her leg down and hugging her, but careful to keep his pelvis away from hers. They were both breathing heavily, and Oliver was lost in the world that was Lillian Walton. He was lost in her smell, her taste, the feel of her lips and her hair and her eyelashes and her skin and those things she had that he still didn't know what to call them.

"Merlin, Lily," he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. She nodded in silent agreement. "That was, wow... bloody... wow," Oliver could feel his heart practically beat out of his chest with contentment and excitement at the next step they had taken.

"Some goodnight kiss, yeah?" She smiled up at him. He nodded fervently.

"Aye," was all he could say as he stood there, staring hopelessly into her hazel eyes. She smoothed his hair, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and he closed his eyes, relishing her touch on his scalp.

"We'll have to do this again sometime, won't we?" Lily asked innocently, her eyes bastardizing the serene tone in her voice and making Oliver gladder that he had directed his pelvis away from her. He nodded drowsily, feeling heavy with a sort of emotion that he wasn't too familiar with. He released her gently.

"Goodnight, Lilyflower," he murmured, embracing her again. She smiled up at him, dazzlingly white teeth showing just how happy she was.  
"Goodnight, Oliver," she replied quietly, stroking the side of his face, where he was starting to gain a little bit of stubble. When one last sweet kiss had been shared, Oliver turned and walked back into his own room. He struggled with himself for a moment, trying to figure out whether it was better if he kept the image of scantily-clad Lily in his head, or got rid of it.

* * *

Lily really wasn't helping his usual effortless composure of his hormones. It also didn't help that today, the day they had chosen to go look at places to live, she had decided to wear a dress and heels. The dress was short, only falling mid-thigh, and was a delightful teal colour, like the Mediterranean sea. Her heels were fairly high - at least in Oliver's eyes - and a shade that Lily, Mary, and Emily all insisted was called 'nude', but whenever they said it Oliver couldn't help but think of 'naked'. And once he'd thought of 'naked' he thought of snogging Lily and her little pyjamas. And once he'd thought of 'naked' and snogging Lily and her little pyjamas he put the two together to think of snogging Lily naked. And once he'd thought of snogging Lily naked he thought of doing other naked things with her. And once he'd thought of doing other naked things with Lily he quickly excused himself to take a moment to cool down.

* * *

Lily walked around the Lochley flat in those Merlin-be-damned heels that only made her legs look even more fantastic. Oliver, characteristically, stood in a doorway leaned up against the frame, watching his girlfriend. "I like it." She stated plainly. "It's small, manageable..."  
"Affordable," James offered, having insisted on tagging along with Oliver and Lily to make sure that they knew what they were getting into and that the flat they chose was good. Lily nodded at Oliver's father's input. She looked at Oliver and smiled a smile that made him practically weak in the knees, as well as thankful that he was leaning against the door frame.

"What do you think?" He lazily stood up straight and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, turning them to face his father.  
"I think it's great. Da?" He questioned his father, who was humming and hahing with the real estate witch over a piece of parchment. James looked up for a moment and nodded, letting loose a signature charming smile that signified his approval of the flat. Oliver grinned, picking up his girlfriend and spinning her around in the living room of what would soon be their own flat. The cost was fair - it had originally been significantly more but they were given a reduced rate due to their conditions as students and because of James' excellent convincing - and with both Oliver and Lily coming from noble pure-blooded families, there was money to go around. Lily had explained to Oliver that although her father hadn't actually given her any money, the Walton family was very prestigious and once she had turned seventeen, her share of the fortune had been transferred to a different Gringotts vault. There was nothing her father could do to keep his daughter from the money that she had the birthright to. Now Oliver's family didn't have anything fancy like that, but his parents did have a lot of money and allowed him to use some of the Wood money and McCarthy money to pay for his half of the cost.

* * *

Two hours later, they walked away with the deed to the Lochley flat. The space had two fair-sized bedrooms, which pleased Oliver's parents, knowing that the younger adults would not be sharing a room - at least at this point in the relationship - and then the rest of the rooms squashed together - save for the bathroom, of course - in a style not unlike that of a bachelor pad. Oliver was ecstatic, and he noticed that Lily had a new spring in her step. He took her hand and kissed it before whirling her into him, hugging her waist, picking her up and spinning her around the hall, both of them smiling and laughing like mad... much to the embarrassment of Oliver's father. The triumphant real estate witch cast a flirtatious wink at James - he only politely smiled back and scratched his nose with his wedding ring-bearing finger - before flouncing off. Oliver noticed all of this, and couldn't resist teasing his father about it before and after they had Apparated back to McCarthy House.

"Bit of a boot, really," James remarked quietly, winking at his son. Oliver, still giddy with the euphoria of signing his name on all of the official parchments that stated the Lochley flat to be the property of Mister Oliver Wood and Miss Lillian Walton, couldn't help but laugh at his father's observation. When he had calmed down, Lily tapped him on the shoulder.

"Boot?" She asked. Oliver remembered that she still wasn't familiar with all of the Scottish jargon and slang that he had grown up with.

And so, still grinning madly, he replied with: "It means she's an ugly old bird."

* * *

-August 1993-

* * *

Home. This was home now. Home was number thirteen, Lochley Alley, in a fair-sized building with only four other flats in it. Lochley Alley was one of the streets in the small wizarding village of Excalibur, which was hidden inside Old Town, Edinburgh, in Scotland. Home had a fireplace that was perfect for Flooing, home had inviting ivory walls, home had large windows that overlooked the bustling Alley below, home had Lily. Home had Lily. Home had Lily, and that was all Oliver could ever want.

They had finally moved everything of theirs in, and had done a bit of furniture shopping at second-hand and thrift stores before finding pieces that both of them could agree on. Their furniture had been rather unfortunately mismatched and occasionally tacky, that was until Lily had had her way with it. Once everything had been transferred into the flat, she had pulled out her wand and started to fix everything. The previously garish-lavender - with added stains for possible artistic purposes? - vinyl chesterfield was now a soft, oakwood-brown leather adorned with a charm that repelled grime and whatever else that could damage a chesterfield. They had found a slightly-scratched and dented table - with three almost-matching chairs - for only twenty-five Galleons and fifteen Sickles, that Lily had quickly been able to repair, polish, and co-ordinate; it now sat in the section of the main room that served as the kitchen and dining room, all stained a lovely brown the same colour as the sofa. What Oliver was happiest about, however, was the bedroom. Although there were two bedrooms, only one of them was currently in use, which made Oliver grin devilishly just thinking about it. Oliver had transported his king-sized - there was so much bed-space partially because he was so tall that he needed a place to put his limbs - over to the flat, which was lovely, but they they realized that Lily would also need a separate bed if she was staying in the other bedroom. They had both agreed that a second-hand bed or a magicked bed were probably not such wonderful ideas, and Oliver had quickly suggested that they share his, at least for the time being. He swore not to pull any tricks or cause any funny business. The first night it had been a little bit awkward, trying to keep himself from rolling over and scooping her up, holding her while they both slept, but it had gone well. Oliver remembered waking up to see Lily in his arms anyway, although he had no recollection of this happening. They opted not to tell his parents that this was happening, even though it might not be as big of a deal as it was in Oliver's head.

Oliver walked into the flat to see Lily dressed in very casual clothes - a pair of black cargo shorts and a too-small green tank top that showed an ample amount of cleavage when she leaned forward; since the encounter with her pyjamas and his hormones a couple weeks ago he had been paying very close attention to what she wore - and sitting on the counter by the kitchen sink, drinking from a large mug. She was humming a slow, melancholy tune to herself, but stopped when the door clicked shut, looking up at Oliver with big, hazel eyes. He knew immediately that something was wrong. "Lily, lass, is everything alright?" He asked walking over to her, asking even though the look on her face told him that there was something wrong; he just knew that something was rotten in the state of Lily. He frowned, kissing her on the cheek and standing in front of her, hands placed on the counter on either side of her and looking up inquisitively into her eyes. She jerked her head towards the small table and set the mug down on the counter behind her. Oliver's brown eyes looked towards the table to see an opened letter. A loud krak startled the Scot, and he looked towards Blacker's cage to see a large raven perched haughtily on top of it, challenging the owl, who was sitting inside, a rather unimpressed look in his bright, sunflower-yellow eyes.

"He's one of my dad's," Lily murmured. Oliver practically snapped his neck as he turned it to look at his girlfriend, who was watching the raven warily. The Scot walked over to the table and gingerly picked up the letter. The broken seal was a dark green with the imprint of a wyvern on it, and Oliver couldn't help but feel the corner of his lips curl up as he straightened the parchment of the letter. It was written in neat cursive, handwriting too perfect for anyone who considered themself to be human, but fitting for a monster of a man who kept his family caged up. The writing was written in uniformed lines, without flourishes until the signature at the end, when Lord Walton's status was clearly displayed in the still-elegant swoops of his name. But the loops in the body text of the letter were far too carefully repeated, the i's were dotted perfectly, and the crosses of the t's were straight; all of this showed that Lord Walton was an incredibly composed man with great attention to detail and a professional air. The man that wrote the letter was more machine than man; it was almost hard to believe that this was the same Lord Walton that had hurt Oliver's Lilyflower for far too many years.

* * *

_Lillian Iris,_  
_You have greatly disappointed your _  
_mother and myself. You have _  
_disgraced the good name of Walton _  
_and everything it stands for. _  
_Running away was a foolish and _  
_incredibly childish thing to do, and _  
_such hooliganism will not be _  
_tolerated in this family. You should _  
_have learned your lesson from the _  
_last time this happened. You are an _  
_ungrateful, selfish little girl and _  
_have thrown away all prospects of _  
_a good future. Do you want to end _  
_up like your sisters? Have you any _  
_idea how greatly you have _  
_disappointed me? You have made _  
_me look like an idiot in front of _  
_the Council, you have reduced _  
_your mother to tears, you have _  
_soiled the Walton name. How dare _  
_you undermine my authority as _  
_man of the house? How dare you _  
_make a fool out of me in front of _  
_my colleagues, people who have _  
_a great impact on your life? You'll _  
_never get anywhere on frivolity, _  
_doing ridiculous things on impulse. _  
_You will only amount to anything _  
_if you stay with the family. Family _  
_comes first, Lillian Iris. You know _  
_how family does not like to be let _  
_down. Remember this, Lillian Iris. _  
_Remember what you mean to your _  
_mother and I. Remember how _  
_important you are to us. _  
_Remember what Waltons do to _  
_those that refuse their offers. _  
_Remember the Rules._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Lord Johnathan A. Walton_

* * *

Shocked, Oliver dropped the letter, letting it fall to the tile floor. The large raven, blinking maliciously, flew out of the open window and into the cerulean sky. Blacker hooted happily, fluffing his feathers triumphantly and smiling in a way that only owls can. "No," Oliver breathed, turning to look at Lily, who was practically frozen save for her fingers, which were busy fiddling with the ends of her hair. "No... how did he find us?" He looked out the window after the raven, as if he was searching for some sign of Jack Walton, as if the pure-blooded Lord could somehow be watching them right at this very moment.

"I don't know," Lily whispered, her gaze fixed on a spot on the wall across the room, but there was a faraway look in her eyes that Oliver only saw when she was running away from something. Now, Lily rarely literally ran away, but it was more mentally than anything. When something scared her she became distant, lifeless, mechanical. It was like she wasn't all there; she had run off to someplace else where everything would be okay and nothing could hurt her. She looked like a dandelion seed, being blown away into the sky by the wind, out looking for a home where she could curl up beneath the soil and grow into something beautiful. She was a dandelion. She was his runaway Lilyflower. "Oliver," he was close to her in an instant, standing in between her legs and holding her gently but tightly, as if he had to hold together all the little pieces of broken Lily and if he were to let go of her they would all fall away and shatter into tiny fragments that had no hope of being pasted or tied or stuck or magicked back together.

It took a moment, but finally Lily responded to Oliver's comforting action. He sighed as she relaxed into him, not daring to say a word for fear that she would run away from him next. He could not lose his Lilyflower. Not when she had come so far from home; he could not let her go back.

"Read the other one," she murmured, breaking from him and drawing up on soft, slender hand to point to the table. He gently let go of her, and moved over the table to where a small scrap of parchment lay, picking it up and examining it. It was a small note that had supposedly been hiding under Lord Walton's letter, and seemed to be everything that the latter wasn't. It looked to be hastily written, there were ink splatters and tears in the paper where the writer had bore down too hard on the quill tip, and the message was short in length: only nine words.

* * *

_So proud of you, Lillian. Be safe._  
_Love, mum_

* * *

Oliver felt his mouth twist up in a smile as he looked at Lily's mother's scrawled message. There was somebody who really cared about her out there, past all the curses and walls and conformism that Lily was cooped up in. Her mother loved her. Her mother was proud of her. Oliver knew that he needed to keep Lily safe: if not for himself, for her mother. He replaced the letter on the table and went back to Lily, who had tears brimming in her eyes. "Lily," he murmured, cupping her face with his hands. "Everything is goin'a be okay. You're safe here, lass. It's goin'a be alright. Everything is goin'a work out alright."

* * *

"Oliver?"

"Mm?"

"You know how I said that someday soon I'd give you answers, about... about everything?"

"Aye,"

"Well, I think I'm ready to give you those answers. I know it's late - bloody late - but, I just don't think I can keep it my secret much longer."

"Alrigh', lass. C'mere,"

"So, my father is part of this... cult, I suppose. They call themselves _Gwaesbyrd_, which, as I've come to understand, is a compilation of the Welsh words for 'blood' and 'spirit': 'gwaed' and 'ysbyrd', respectively. Anyway, father always referred to it as 'the Council', and he's been a part of it since before my eldest sister was born, I think he said something once about being in it by birthright."

"I didn' know you had a sister,"

"Yeah, two: Heather and Elizabeth. They're both older than me, and neither of them went to Hogwarts. I was the first to attend, and... it's funny, really. I mean, there wasn't a particular reason for me going, I suppose. I think my mother had something to do with it. She's a lovely woman, I'm sure you'd like her. So, anyway, this Council is a group of... thirteen wizards, or it has been consistently throughout history."

"Your father never told you anything about it?"

"You're joking."

"Right. So how do you know so much about this Council?"

"I read, Oliver."

"Ah. Tha'll do't."

"Mhm. May I continue?"

"Aye,"

"The Council values tradition - mostly old, disgusting, pure-blood tradition. It involves women being property of the Head of the house, and a bunch of other really messed up Rules. The Rules also give the Head of the family leeway to use any methods he requires to keep his property in line. Being presentable and proper has always been incredibly important to the Council, and so my father often used the Imperius curse to keep my family presentable and proper. My mother developed somewhat of an immunity to it, but never acted out of line because if she did, and my father realized he couldn't control her with the curse, he would either dispose of her or take up some other means of beating her down so that she couldn't help us. Heather and Elizabeth didn't build up quite the immunity that mother did, and I, well... I did. Quickly. Since my father had gotten used to using it since before I was born, he figured that he wouldn't have to go as hard on me as he did on everyone else, also considering that while I was conceived my mother was under the Imperius curse. I don't know exactly what that did to me, but my father's curses often have more of a watered-down effect on me. One day, my mother tried to get my sisters and I to escape, to find help and get rid of my father once and for all. I was seven, Heather was twelve, and Elizabeth was nine... but I can still remember it like it was this morning."

"Tell me about it, won' you?"

"You know I will, Oliver. My father was out, as he was when you came to _Blodau_, and would not be back until that night. She said that she would ring the bell - the one in the bell tower by the house - if anything went wrong and then we were to come straight back. She led us to a tunnel in the basement of _Blodau_, one that goes under the loch, and told us to run down it. We were all bloody terrified, but did as she said. It felt like ages until we finally sprang up in a small cave in a brae by the loch, and Heather was suddenly yelling something about a wyvern, and then she and Elizabeth ran out of the cave, faster than I could go, and they left me behind. So I wandered off. There was this fantastic meadow, with all different kinds of flowers... clover-flowers and Queen Anne's Lace, heather, thistle-flowers... it was absolutely beautiful. There was this nest-like patch, and I sat there, took my shoes off, and wove crowns and necklaces and bracelets for what must have been hours."

"That's the meadow by the dock, aye?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I been there before, a couple times. No reason,"

"It really is lovely. Anyhow, after I had decorated myself with flowers, I decided to go on a bit of an adventure. So I went through this forest, pretending that I was Queen of the Faeries, and then I was out of the forest. I started to go down to the Loch, and I met... I met this very interesting character. He didn't say much, but I took him on an adventure with me. I honestly don't remember much except the sudden ringing of the Blodau bell. And so I ran away, went back through the underwater tunnel, only to find that my sisters had been under my father's curse the entire time, and that they had reported to him that I had run away. My mother and I were locked in the dungeons for ages. I..."

"Oh, lass..."

"No, no, I'm okay."

"You're cryin', Lilyflower. Why don' you take a break from this?"

"No, I... I need to do this. I _want_ to do this. There's not much left to tell."

"Alright. Just let me hug you?"

"Oliver..."

"You comfy, lass?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

"Okay. So not much happened until my eleventh birthday, when I got my Hogwarts letter, as both of my sisters had. It said that I was to attend the next year, and my father surprisingly, let me go. And, well, you know what happened then."

"What happened then?"

"I met you, silly,"

"Ah, yes. The best part of the story,"

"Cocky, are we?"

"Aye. So, wait, Lily, what happened to your sisters?"

"Father Obliviated them when they came of age and sent them off into the world. He keeps them tracked, and sometimes I can sneak a look at the reports, so I know where they are, but they don't know who they are, really."

"Where are they? We could go find them?"

"And say what? 'Excuse me madam, but I'm actually your sister, but you won't remember me because our father Obliviated you.' Spiffing conversation starter, Oliver."

"It was just a suggestion."

"I know, love. It just seems weird, you know? I mean, I've dreamed of finding them again and just being able to meet the sisters that I never really had, but it's all impossible. There's no way I'd be able to lift the Obliviation. I mean, people can lift their own spells, but I'm only seventeen! It would take a lifetime to figure that one out how to rid somebody else's!"

"Well we can think about that tomorrow, Lilyflower."

"It's technically today, Oliver."

"Bloody... wow, it's late. Or, early?"

"Yeah. Well, thank you, love. I know I don't say that enough, but thank you for letting me do this... even though it's at this time."

"That's alright, lass. It's alright."

* * *

Oliver blinked his eyes open sleepily, nuzzling his nose into Lily's temple. In response, she made the most adorable sound he had ever heard: a short, low hum that made Oliver feel warm all over. She snuggled deeper into his side, beginning to slightly wake up. The Scotsman grinned. Last night - this morning? It was so bloody late or early that he had no idea - he had been rewarded for his excellent listening with a fantastic bout of snogging before the couple finally called it a night and fell asleep next to each other. "Lily," he murmured in her ear, kissing it lightly. "Lily, it's time to wake up, lass." She shifted against him, slowly opening her eyes and squinting in the broad daylight. He smiled down at her and planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "Good morning, lass," he lazily grazed a finger up and down her side, watching as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

"Good morning," she replied, flashing him a dazzling smile and flicking hair out of her face. She replaced her head back on his muscular, fabric-covered chest and he sighed before kissing her loose brown hair again, just holding her close to him. Merlin, she was fit so perfectly in his arms, curled up next to him, legs tangled up in a comfortable jumble. With her long, wavy hair splayed across his chest and the pillow, and the way that she knew exactly how to lie with him in a way that was just way too comforting and cozy. What he wouldn't give just to spend the rest of his life lying here on his bed, under a duvet, with Lillian Walton. There had been many moments that involved 'what he wouldn't give just to spend', and he would treasure all of them until the end of time, but there was something about this one that stuck out farther than all the rest. He couldn't put his finger on it, or put a name to it, but it was special. There was something about this very minute, of this very day, of this very year, of this very lifetime. There was something about this moment.

"Lily?"

"Mhm?"

"I love you." He blurted it out before he realized what he was saying; it was too late and he could not stop himself from speaking what was on his mind. What astounded him the most was the notion that he could not take it back. He did truly love Lily. He would always love Lily. Maybe he was just a teenager, with hormones and a crazy emotional map, but Oliver knew that this wasn't just some silly crush or infatuation that he would grow out of in no time at all; he loved Lily. But did she love him back? Did she really truly care for him, in the same way he cared for her? Was he only a crush to her? Was she attracted to him just because he was the first guy that had tried being nice to her? Was she attracted to him just because of the sexual tension that knotted itself into their friendship? Was she?- she said something. She had said something. But he had been too far lost in his mind to understand what she had said. And so he replied with the only thing he could. "What?" Lily was smiling, shyly.  
"I love you too."

* * *

Blue was a lovely colour on Lily. Any kind of blue, but particularly the pale periwinkle shade of the flowers in the vase in front of him. Forget-me-nots, they were called. Lily had picked a few from the side of the road and, once they were back home, transfigured one of their glasses into a small vase filled halfway with water, and set the little flowers in it. She had insisted that the flat needed them, and Oliver hastily agreed that they brightened up the place. To his credit, he was telling the truth. The flowers looked quite nice in the space of the little flat, and made it look a little more lived-in, and not like they were two disorganized adults living in a space away from home for the first time - actually, both Lily and Oliver were quite organized. Forget-me-nots were quite pretty, Oliver decided, and he had concluded that the blue ones were his favourite. Lily had picked an array of pink, white, and blue ones, but the blue was nicer than the others. Oliver had sneakily changed all of them into the same pale blue that he loved the most. If Lily had noticed, she had said nothing. He looked up from the flowers to his girlfriend, noticing that the forget-me-not blue was the same hue of the dress that Lily was wearing right now. The dress wasn't as short as he would have really liked, but it was enough. Oliver frowned, remembering something about her home life that was inconsistent with the post-Blodau Lily. "So, if your dad only let you wear the one dress, why do you have so many clothes?" He asked, scratching his clean-shaven chin absentmindedly. Lily looked up from cutting sandwiches, tucked loose hair from behind her ear, and sighed.

"Well, at the beginning of sixth year, my roommates decided that I needed a makeover. They dragged me to Hogsmeade, as well as gave me old things of theirs that didn't fit or that they didn't want anymore." Lily looked incredibly embarrassed at having had people dote on her. Oliver grinned at the sight. "Besides, Athena Ryder Payne's father is some rich business tycoon that is willing to spend limitless Galleons on his frivolous only daughter, so she gave me quite a lot of her things. Her taste in clothes changes faster than Evan's taste in girls." She added thoughtfully, taking a sip of water before jotting something down in the notebook that lay open on the counter. With a flick of her wand the book closed and zoomed off towards the row of notebooks sitting inanimately on a shelf by the door. Lily brought the small plate of sandwiches over to the table, taking one and taking a perfect, semi-circular bite out of it.

"Girls are bloody barmy." Oliver murmured, taking a sandwich for his own. His dark-haired girlfriend nodded slightly before continuing her lunch. A knock at the door startled them both. "Expecting anyone?" He asked jokingly, but when he saw the wary glint in Lily's eyes he dropped his sandwich onto the plate, his wand hand flying to his pocket. He realized the seriousness of this situation. Only his family knew they were here, and they would have arrived by Floo anyway. They stood up, together, and Oliver reached out a hand to grab Lily, pulling her close to him. "It's probably nothin', lass," he murmured reassuringly, however a pang in his gut told him otherwise. There was another knock, one that sounded more impatient. The couple walked over to the door, and Oliver drew his wand out of his pocket before unlocking it and finally opening it.

Lord Walton was an average looking man, for the most part. He was tall, a couple inches taller than Oliver's father, yet he held himself in a way that would make anyone wonder if he was half giant. He had dark, salt and pepper-tinged hair that was combed neatly back, with a well-groomed goatee and pair of sideburns to match. His eyes were a piercing grey, set menacingly under thick, black eyebrows. He wasn't extraordinarily beefy or exquisitely muscled like any of the Quidditch players that Oliver had studied, but it was obvious that under his well-fitting, pristine dark grey robes lay a toned body that could take pretty much anything. He was a solid man, and held his head with an air of confidence and use to being in power. He commanded the room so easily that Oliver had to fight to appear anything resembling threatening.

"Lord Walton." Oliver was thankful that he didn't falter. The man in question raised one hawk-like eyebrow at the Scotsman.

"Indeed. And, you are?" The prim English accent that Oliver had become familiar with, thanks to Lily, sounded weird on a different tongue. Lord Walton sounded well-versed with ancient dialects that Oliver couldn't even imagine the names of, and when he spoke he sounded like an Olde English king, one that everybody knew not to reckon with.

"Oliver Wood. Lily's boyfriend." The mahogany-haired Gryffindor stood up a little bit straighter.

"Middle name?"

"... James?" Lord Walton frowned.

"Is that a question, or an answer?" Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"An answer, sir." Walton nodded slightly, before his stormy eyes flicked to his daughter, who was standing slightly behind Oliver.

"Lillian Iris." He inclined his head coolly. Oliver could hear his girlfriend clench her jaw so hard that her molars ground together for a moment. However, he kept his gaze on the older man in front of him, who was looking his daughter up and down with a slightly repulsed look on his face. "The Council was quite upset to hear that you had run off. The Rules state that you must return to _Blodau Ard-Mhéara_, and you know the Rules, do you not, Lillian Iris?" The Scot gripped his girlfriend's waist tighter, holding her close to his side. She lifted her chin defiantly.

"I'm not coming back, father." Oliver almost winced at the hiss of the snakes in her voice. Each word sounded like a poisoned dagger, and he would have hated to be in the firing path of those weapons. Lord Walton raised his eyebrows skeptically, his lips stretching into a malevolent smirk.

"Do not use contractions when speaking to your Head, Lillian Iris; it is disrespectful. As well, your returning to the House is non-negotiable. You know that." His voice dripped poisonously, each consonant too perfectly punctuated, each syllable too carefully uttered. Oliver adjusted his grip on his wand so that, although it was at his side, the tip was pointed at Lord Walton. Lord Walton, as if he sensed the movement, looked back at Oliver, his gaze calculating. "Why a Scotsman, Lillian Iris?" His tone was bored with a hint of confusion as he studied Oliver, who never let his gaze fall from Lily's father's. "Was he the easiest thing you could get your undeserving hands on?" Oliver set his jaw.

"Sir, I think it's time for you to-"

"Leave? Oh, yes, quite. However, I must take Lillian Iris with me." The Scotsman shook his head.

"She's stayin' here." He replied firmly. "Lily, go." In his peripherals, he saw Lily cast him a worried glance before stepping back slowly and quickly walking away from the two men. Jack Walton chuckled.

"As you are not a part of any Family on the Council, I do not expect you to understand our customs. You see, Oliver James, your family has rules, does it not?" Glaring, Oliver let himself nod a single nod in response. "Our Family also has Rules, as well as Rules set up by the Council. The Council is an organization that strives to make Family life less complicated. I, as the Head of the Family, have the task of keeping my eyes on the well-being of my Family." He walked closer, and the movement made no sound at all, which surprised the younger man. Lord Walton was a weird, weird man. He stepped incredibly close to Oliver, the distinct aromas of gun powder and cologne filling Oliver's nostrils and making him have to force back the urge to cough. "And, as the Head of the Family, I also have the responsibility of eliminating anything, or anyone, that I see as a threat to my Family." His voice was low, threatening, and Oliver gripped his wand tighter for reassurance.

"Maybe Lily doesn't want to be part of your Family," he challenged. "She's my family now." Lord Walton sighed, exhaling the cold scents of peppermint and tobacco into Oliver's face.

"I must say, Oliver James, that you have an excellent handle on the situation you have been given. I would like to apologize for my selfish, unruly daughter, and how she has forced herself upon you." Oliver blinked, his glare faltering and becoming confused. What was Lord Walton trying to do? "You have control over her, which is something that I... admire." He cast his cool silver glance in the direction that Lily had disappeared. "Maybe there is a place for you on the Council after all." He murmured, and Oliver couldn't tell whether he was supposed to have heard what had just been said, or not.

"Lily is-" he began to say.

"Good day to you, Oliver James." With that, Lord Walton DisApparated.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I'm sososo sorry lovelies. I had a lot of trouble  
with this chapter, but it's working out now so YAY!  
Sorry for the wait, loves.**

**-e.**


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